Hanging By A Moment
by Riley
Summary: Star of the Guardians. I never did like the fact that Sagan wasn't as physically traumatized by the severing of the mind-link... but what if he had been? Read and find out.


_Disclaimer: These are Margaret Weis' kids; I'm just inviting them out to play. The dialogue from, "Maigrey, don't do this...." up to, "Or myself." is from _King's Test, _copyright © 1991 by Margaret Weis. The title is from the song of the same name by Lifehouse. _   
  
  
  


The lift doors opened. 

At the far end of the hall, ringed in blood and fire, Maigrey stood, a marble statue of an angel. 

_His_ angel, she had been. Except that she'd proved to be neither. 

He strode down the hall toward her; she stood her ground. Not advancing, not retreating. 

Letting him come to her. 

He'd _tried_ to come to her. Tried to offer her the galaxy. And she'd thrown it in his face. 

_What would be enough for you, Maigrey? _

But her mind was closed to him. Perhaps it always had been. 

He reached the end of the corridor, stood before her. 

And revised his opinion. Not a marble angel... a death mask; a corpse given life by a single purpose. 

It occurred to him that for the first time they were the same. 

For what purpose had his life ever had--- but having her? 

"Maigrey, don't do this." The words were out of his mouth before he realized he'd spoken. "Come with me." 

She stared through him. He felt sick, because beneath his rage there was terror. 

There was no one else. Never had been. 

How could she leave him... leave him alone? 

And what could he offer her to keep her by him? 

Perhaps she'd resented the notion of democracy, of being merely a servant of the people. He hadn't thought he'd have to explain to her that "democracy" was a better system for the Blood Royal, whose powers would let them circumvent the political process as they could never circumvent their own caste system. 

As _he_ never could--- the bastard son of a priest. Who had nothing to offer a king's daughter... except what he could _take_. 

And she'd never liked Robes. That, too must rankle. 

"Robes is a fool, Maigrey." He heard the desperation in his own voice, wondered if she did. "The rabble that brought him to power will tire of him quickly. We have but to bide our time and then we can step in and take over." 

She was listening; she'd grant him that much, at least. Another argument occurred to him. 

"And in the meantime, we can raise Semele's child, raise the king." 

She was listening closely, he could read her that well despite her stillness; the next words were the key. 

"Come with me, Maigrey---" 

_ This was all for you._

_I love you_. 

But he couldn't say that; couldn't risk that ultimate rejection. He sought words that would say just enough--- and found them. 

"---and I will forgive you." 

Sharp intake of breath, and flicker of long pale lashes. The grey eyes sought his. 

Tears glistened on her lashes. For once he felt no flash of anger; would in fact have gladly taken her in his arms to comfort her. He was _that_ desperate. 

Her words shattered the tenderness. 

"But I will never forgive you, Derek. Or myself." 

The world went dark and burning, a foretaste of Hell. 

Dark with terror--- because there was no one else, had never been, and there was nothing left for him if she left him. 

Burning with rage--- because he had offered her everything, had asked nothing in return but that she love him. And it was still too much. 

Blind and scorched, he struck. 

Flash of blue across haunted grey eyes--- 

Flash of gruesome light in his mind. An instant of sheer agony as something vital was torn from his soul. 

Then--- nothing.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


Movement. Someone nearby. 

Adrenaline took over. Animal instinct did. 

Sagan sat up, somehow unsurprised to find he was holding the bloodsword. 

A man was bending over Maigrey's still form.... 

Someone he knew; someone Maigrey did. 

The man looked up at him. 

Memory supplied a name. Dixter. John Dixter. 

Who stood between him and Maigrey. Or wanted to. 

Without thinking, Sagan spun into a crouch, putting himself between Dixter and Maigrey. 

"Get out." He heard his own voice from a distance, more snarl than speech. "_Out!"_

His sword flickered on. 

Dixter stared at him for a long moment--- then _got_. 

Sagan breathed a sigh of relief. She was still here. Still safe. 

That was all he could think. 

He shut off the sword, sheathed it--- reflex--- before darkness closed over him again.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


This time when he came to himself it was quiet. 

Strangely, painfully quiet. 

Automatically, still half-conscious, he reached for the mind-link. _Maigrey?_

She wasn't there. 

Not just sleeping. Or unconscious. Gone. 

He sat up, his heart pounding, breath coming in harsh gasps. "Maigrey---" He looked around--- 

There she was, lying on the ground next to him--- a strangely surreal effect, given that he couldn't feel her in his mind. 

Memory-flash: Dixter, bending over her--- 

Had--- _that man_--- done something to her? 

Alarmed, he got to his feet, moved to her side and went on one knee. 

She was unconscious; he turned her over, worried--- 

And saw, under the mat of pale hair... the wound. 

Memory hit him, ice-cold and bitter, like an ocean wave. 

_His angel... was neither._

_"Come with me, Maigrey..."_

_"I will never forgive you, Derek. Or myself."_

_Never forgive you ... never forgive..._

Even kneeling, his legs wouldn't hold him; he staggered, leaned against the door frame. 

_He_ had done... _that_ to her. To _her_. 

Had destroyed the mind-link... destroyed the one human connection he'd thought he could trust. There was nothing left of it but a quivering spark that told him she lived. 

And that he might as well be dead. 

He became aware of a harsh, ragged gasping; realized it was himself. 

"Oh, God--- what have I done?" 

_What kind of monster have I become? To do this to her?_

He leaned forward, touched her cheek, her neck... drew her into his arms and cradled her. 

_Never forgive... myself._   
  
  
  


*****   
  
  
  


Gradually, he came to himself, the analytic, pragmatic part of his mind taking over while his soul lay crippled. 

She'd need medical attention. The cut wasn't serious--- God alone knew how he'd managed _that_ miracle--- but it needed stitches. 

He turned her in his arms so that the wound was hidden against his chest; somehow it seemed an obscenity to show that gaping hole--- a part of her laid bare--- to the world. Carefully, he gathered her up in his arms, got to his feet, and carried her from that hall of death.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


The city hospital had been commandeered by the rebels; no one asked questions of one of the "leaders" of the revolution. A few clipped commands--- he never did remember what he said--- yielded a private room with an attached operating theater and the attention of the best cosmetic surgeon. 

He stayed by her side while the man operated, held her hand. The irony of it overwhelmed him with its pain: before tonight, he never could have shown her such open affection--- never could have risked the scandal, for her sake. Now, when he'd lost her, it was finally safe to show that he loved her. 

_Maigrey, why? Why wasn't it enough? Why couldn't you stay with me? _

But she didn't answer; might never answer his thoughts again. 

He looked up as the surgeon shut off the las-sealer. "Well?" His voice was harsh from the smoke and the pain. 

The man coughed. "I've sealed off all the---" 

Sagan waved a hand, not interested in medical details. "Get to the point." 

"No loss of nerve tissue, though she'll probably have phantom pains and tingling--- and---" another cough, for which Sagan could have strangled the man--- "there _will_ be a scar." 

He'd expected that, nodded slightly. "Dismissed." 

He'd forgotten for a second that he was dealing with a civilian; but the doctor did as he was bidden; the door closed--- and latched--- behind him. 

When they were alone, Sagan lifted her in his arms, carried her from the operating table into the bedroom, set her down on the bed. 

There was a chair beside the bed; Sagan considered it for a second, then shook his head, sat on the bed beside her. 

He studied her thoughtfully, one hand brushing over the strands of hair. She was still clad in the blood-spattered gown she'd worn to the dinner; the doctor had wanted to put her in one of those damned hospital gowns, but he'd vetoed that in a hurry. A gross violation, it seemed, to have her naked and vulnerable before a stranger. 

It reminded him that he was still in full armor. He'd have to rectify that situation before she woke; it would do her no good to be reminded.... 

Dear God, what a disaster. He consulted his inner clock. Mid-morning now, planetary time. If all had gone as he'd _intended_, they'd be on board one of the captured royal cruisers, in the command suite.... 

He entertained a moment's thought of having her brought there anyway. To _show_ her what he'd wanted to give her.... 

No. She had made her choice. He might not _accept_ it, but he couldn't override it. Not if he wanted any chance of putting things right between them again. 

He'd have to convince her, somehow. 

He couldn't go through life like this--- alone. Which... was why he'd become involved in the revolution in the first place. To be able, finally, to offer her something that no one else could--- just as she'd done for him. 

The irony of losing her through the very act intended to bring her to him was _not_ lost on Sagan. 

At least she was here in body, if not in spirit. At least he could hold her for a few precious hours before she woke. 

God, to be reduced to this.... 

He shook his head slightly, then slid an arm under her, drew her close and cradled her against his chest, rested his chin on her head.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


Blood on her hands and fire around her--- 

Semele's face staring up at her, eyes unseeing--- 

Derek's face, framed in fire and dark with fury--- 

The downward sweep of a sword--- 

Maigrey jerked awake with a wild cry. 

"Oh, _God_..." But it was just a dream. Just a dream. 

She could feel Derek's arms around her, warm comfort and safety. She nestled into his chest, still sleep-mazed. He'd had nightmares often enough, since she'd known him; sometimes, he'd woken her with them. She hadn't minded, had been glad for the excuse to be close to him. Time to return the favor.... 

_Derek?_ she asked, reaching out with her mind--- 

And met a blank wall. 

"Derek?"   
  


*****   
  


Maigrey's scream had startled him out of a fevered half-doze; it had taken a couple of moments to get his wits about him. 

Not to mention the unexpected joy of having her cling to him. 

"Derek?" Her voice, choky and panicked, brought him out of his reverie. "Derek?" 

"I'm here." God, if by some miracle she'd forgiven him.... He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. "I'm here, Maigrey." _Are you here... _with me_?_ "What's wrong?" 

She clung to him, then, fingers digging into his chest. For a moment, he regretted putting off the armor. 

Her next words dispelled that thought. "A--- just a nightmare." She laughed, shakily. "Sorry." 

"Don't be; I've woken you enough times." _That_ thought brought a wince: waking up after one of those appalling dreams of half-remembered waking nightmares... to an empty silence in his mind instead of her warm closeness.... 

God, he might never sleep again. 

She gave a shaky sigh and pressed against him. "It was awful--- there was blood, and fire, and--- and---" Sound of a sob, hastily swallowed. "You and I--- we--- we were---" 

Sagan's heart stopped. _She doesn't remember. She thinks it's just a nightmare---_

And, for a long, unworthy second, he contemplated fostering that delusion. Of keeping her ignorant and therefore safe, coming up with some excuse, to keep her by him, for at least a little while--- 

That was the key: _a little while._ Eventually, she'd find him out... and despise him twice over. 

"I can't talk about it," she said finally. "Derek---" a little stammer--- "w-would you... let me in? Just for a minute--- so I can show you?" 

Let her into his mind. He trembled, heartsick. "Maigrey--- it wasn't a dream." 

She pushed away from him, stared. "No---" 

"Yes." He couldn't help it: he tightened his arms around her and kept her close against him, felt her heart beat against his. 

"No--- you couldn't have--- oh, _God_, no----" She pushed at him, wildly, striking out with fists and feet and fingernails, tearing at the fabric of his shirt roughly. "How could you--- _how could you---"_

He held her against him, tried to smother her hysterics against his body, got a leg over her hips and held her down. "Stop it, Maigrey--- stop---" 

Finally she quieted, worn out with the struggle, and lapsed against him. He could feel her posture, against his body: abject surrender and helpless despair. 

For a long moment, he simply cradled her against him and tried to slow the pounding of his own heart. He stroked her hair gently, and buried his face in the soft strands, grimly aware that this might be the last time he'd touch her so. 

At least she hadn't woken up in that damn dress, covered in blood, half of it hers. He'd had one of the nurses find something suitable... had dressed her himself, and never mind what _that_had done to his precarious sanity. Surreal, to touch her without _feeling_ her in his mind--- to handle what felt like a corpse, when he'd known her body, _intimately_, while she was alive and lively and wanting him.... 

And so he held her, kept her close, and tried to recover some last decent memories of her. 

Finally, though, she pushed back from him--- not the wild struggling she'd started with, but a calm, deliberate motion. He let her go, trying to keep a firm grip on the tremors. 

"Tell me what happened. All of it." Her voice was iron, and cold as deepspace. 

He told her. Quietly, dispassionately. He did not spare her...or himself. 

When he was through, she lay silent and lifeless against him, her face white marble, the wound a slash of wine and shadow across her cheek. 

"Get out," she said at last. "Get out and leave me to mourn what I've lost." Her voice was ice, felt like ice hitting his skin. 

He held her a moment more. "That... is your choice then? You'd choose a defunct monarchy--- over... what we could have?" _Over me?_

She nodded once, slightly. "What other choice can I make?" And she turned her face from him. 

Now wasn't the time to try to persuade her. If there ever would be one. Slowly, he disentangled himself from her. "As you wish, my lady." He got up off the bed, trying to ignore the protests from stiff muscles. 

She turned her back to him, curling up in a tight lump, as he left.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


Maigrey heard the door close, gently, and buried her face in the pillow and let the tears come as they would. 

Derek... a traitor. The man she'd loved, respected... adored. Worthy of none of it. 

And the aching hole in her mind... where he'd been for nearly all her life. 

She couldn't imagine life without him. Without that warm solid presence, certain and strong and sure. He'd been her shelter, ever since she was a little girl. Her shelter and her idol. 

Now he was neither. Now, for the first time, she was alone, Utterly, achingly alone. 

The worst of it was that she would have gone with him... if he'd loved her. If she once had cause to think that she might be more than a convenience to him. 

But that was all she was. He'dmade _that_ abundantly clear. 

_I will forgive you._ As if _she_ was the only one in the wrong. It never occurred to him that what he'd done... what he'd asked of her... might demand forgiving. 

Never occurred to him to let her in on his plans, to treat her like a partner, even a friend... rather than merely an extension of himself, that would do what he demanded without question. His plans that... treasonous, dishonorable as they were... she would have acceded to... had he only asked her. 

She would have gone with him tonight, God help her... if he'd said he loved her. 

But he hadn't. Because he didn't. Witness how easily he'd left her. _As you wish, my lady._

He was probably glad to be rid of her, of the burden of human contact that the mind-link put on him. After all, if she wasn't going to do as he told her, what use of having her? 

What use indeed.... 

She lay there with her face in the pillow and cried herself out... for now. 

And then for a long time she lay very still and stared at nothing. 

Nothing... like the empty space in her mind. In her heart.   
  


******   
  


Once out of the hospital, Sagan let his feet carry him where they would. He had duties, responsibilities.... As one of the leaders of the revolution, there were a thousand places he should have been. 

But at the moment, none of them seemed very important. Maigrey... _Maigrey_ mattered. And he had lost her forever. 

He kept his mind carefully blank, free of any intent. The darkness in his soul was so great that if he allowed his mind free reign, that blackness would consume him. 

At that point... he'd damned likely put a gun to his head. Never mind suicide was a mortal sin. He'd done far worse than that tonight. He'd destroyed the only thing of value in his life. 

He was not surprised to discover, when he finally came to himself, that his steps had carried him to the cathedral. Appropriate... ironically appropriate... to leave one trust he'd failed only to find himself before another. 

Maigrey and God. The two constants in his life. And what had he done but betray them? God had given him and Maigrey to each other almost two decades ago--- any betrayal of her betrayed both. And as for the rest--- the revolution itself.... 

He'd had faith, once, that any God _he_ could respect couldn't possibly want the Starfire dynasty to continue. He'd believed he'd been carrying out God's will.... 

Tonight... the utter disaster in the palace... had shown him he was wrong. 

He stared up at the heavens. "Why summon me here?" he asked, hearing his voice rasp with anguish. "Is this another of Your cruel jokes--- to make a mockery of everything I've done---" 

The worst of it was that he _should_ have known. He was a soldier; he'd seen men in combat. He should have expected the carnage in the palace.... 

Except that, soldier though he was, he'd never dealt with line fighters before. He'd been a pilot, his battles fought between soldiers... or if not, at least _he'd_ never had to deal with the consequences personally. 

Maigrey... Maigrey, daughter of a warrior, who'd fought battles on horseback, who'd killed a man face to face when she was four.... Maigrey would have known. If he'd told her what he'd planned... if he'd trusted her. She would have known what would become of his dreams of glory.... 

One thing he should have known, he thought wretchedly, staring at the facade of the cathedral. He _should_ have known what would become of the Order of Adamant. Robes was an atheist--- he'd never countenance the continuation of the Order.... 

Yes, he should have realized... even before he learned of Abdiel's involvement.... 

_Abdiel._ He looked around him, saw the carnage on the steps of the great building... a violence that had been carried out with even greater savagery than elsewhere. 

_Abdiel_. He knew why God had led him here. Not to chastise him... but to show him the way to salvation. 

He raised his eyes once more to the heavens, this time not in anger... but in gratitude. "I see Your plan now," he murmured. "And this time... _this_ time I will not fail." 

He turned from the cathedral, heading back to the palace--- the building, now in rebel hands, had become, ironically enough, their command base for the time being. 

No, this time he wouldn't fail. Either of them.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


The next week went by in a blur. There were the duties he'd expected--- the business of bringing the military under control, sorting out the trustworthy from the questionable and assessing resources. There were interminable meetings with Robes and the other leaders of the revolution, attempting to make order out of the chaos they'd created. 

And then there was the duty that he'd not expected. _Abdiel_. Robes' "improvement" on their plan... who was more than likely responsible for much of the disaster that the revolution had become. 

A less careful man, a man who didn't know the mind-seizer's capabilities... would have missed the signs. But they were there, under the surface. 

Robes had always been a shrewd manipulator--- it was one of the things that Sagan admired about the man, his willingness, his ability, to use the powers of the Blood Royal to his advantage. Which, in retrospect, was probably a further sign of Abdiel's influence. But more telling still were the shift now, the subtle alterations in the ideas and ideals that he and Peter had discussed so often before. 

Sagan had never expected the dictum of "No secrets from the people" to be taken literally. Any military leader knew that the general public couldn't be allowed to know everything. For one thing, few enough of them had the training to comprehend government policy, much less the willingness to make the effort. He'd always known there would be secrets. 

But it seemed that Robes' policy now was to keep as much secret from the people he claimed to represent as possible. Secrets that made no sense.... Secret meetings between Robes and his advisors, one on one. Sagan took grim pride in the fact that he was one of the first Robes called aside... even as he wanted to laugh at the man's oh-so-carefully "veiled" innuendos, designed to make Sagan distrust the others. Manipulations as transparent as glass.... 

Or perhaps not. Certainly the others seemed to fall for Robes' trickery. The meetings among the advisors had the feel of a roomful of jackals now, eyeing each other over the lion's scraps. And Robes, lionlike, presided smugly over the cabal. 

And Sagan had to wonder... if he hadn't known to watch for signs of Abdiel's influence... if he hadn't realized what Robes had become... would _he_ have noticed? 

Likely not. Whether they admitted that fact to themselves or not, the men and women and aliens of the cabal that had orchestrated the revolution all had their own selfish motives for taking this risk. He did--- though he hadn't admitted it until he came to himself in a darkened hallway to find Maigrey bleeding and unconscious from a wound _he'd_ given her. 

Bitter irony that... because _she_ had been his motive in the first place. 

Power... yes, power. The power to give her anything she could ask... if she would only stay with him. The chance to show her what he could be worth to her.... 

Oh, he'd shown her that. And shown himself... exactly what he was worth. 

He had to thank her for opposing him. Without that loss... he might not have seen what a farce this was. Might not have seen through Robes. Too intent on gaining power for himself... for Maigrey... he might very well have missed what was now glaringly obvious. 

Robes... wanted all the power concentrated in two hands. His. And through him, Abdiel's.... 

And it was Sagan's fault. _Never forgive... myself...._

At the end of the week, Robes prepared to move himself and his fledgling government to their new home--- on a planet as distant from Minas Tares in both location and culture as possible. 

Symbols. More empty, meaningless symbols. No different from Starfire.... 

But it meant that Sagan had to make a decision. 

He'd put off trying to see Maigrey again. He kept telling himself that it was best to give them time... enough time to get over the pain. But he knew that he lied, as surely as he'd lied to himself about the revolution. 

He couldn't face her again. Couldn't face the thought that she might reject him... this time forever. 

But... he had an offer to make. This time, an offer that would allow her to keep her oaths... all of them. 

He could only hope that that would be enough. Enough to overcome what he'd done to her. 

Because he was damned if he knew what to do if _this_ gambit failed.   
  


*****   
  


When he arrived at her hospital room, Maigrey was curled up on the window seat, hugging her knees to her chest, her scarred cheek turned toward the door, a silent reproach, as she stared out at the disaster zone that had once been the palace grounds. She didn't acknowledge his existence, though he hadn't entered quietly. 

He made a note to have words with the hospital administration. They should never have put her in a room facing the palace. 

He took a step and a step into the room. She remained silent, motionless; she might have been alone. 

Alone... they were both alone now. That was what her defiance and his sword had done to them. 

"Maigrey." She didn't look up. 

He found himself at a loss. He'd expected defiance, or tears--- had even hoped, God help him, that she might have forgiven him, at least a little. But he had expected _some_ reaction. 

Not this. Not this utter silence and... indifference. 

That was the worst thing she could have done to him. 

All his carefully prepared words flew out of his head. "Maigrey," he said simply, "will you hear me out?" 

She raised her head and looked back at him, shaking her hair off her face. Her eyes were black holes, her face a ghost's. "I haven't any choice, have I?" Her voice was dull, lifeless and sad. 

Her words cut him to the quick, even as her voice wrenched his heart. "Do you think that of me?" he asked on a low breath, coming further into the room. "Do you actually think so little of me---" His voice caught; he couldn't continue. 

The dark grey eyes acquired a painful shard of light. "I don't know _what_ to think of you, any more--- Derek." Her voice quivered on his name. A good sign... or a warning. He didn't know which. Without the mind-link to guide him, he was lost as to how to read her reactions. He'd had so little human contact, before her.... 

She turned away, leaned against the window, her eyes abstracted. Her hair fell back over her face, hiding the las-stitches that marred her pale skin. "Say what you have to say." Her voice was a whisper, empty of everything but the words. 

He came to her side; she flinched as he drew near, then settled, seemingly indifferent. 

He knew why she'd moved; it _hurt_ to be close, now--- hurt because the closeness of their bodies was a lie, when their minds were closed to each other. Perhaps it had always been. 

But the lie was all he'd ever had. 

"I hardly know where to begin." True enough. There was so much he wanted to say... so much that he didn't know how to. 

"Then leave." She would give him no quarter. "Leave me in peace--- or put a beam through my head, I don't likely give a damn." She pushed away from the window, hunching tightly over her knees. 

There--- she'd given him his opening. "Those aren't our only choices, Maigrey." 

A shudder ran through her, making the pale hair ripple, moonlight on water, falling over her unscarred cheek. 

Of its own accord, his hand came out, stroking the hair from her face. She flinched, drew back. 

There was a time when he would have let her... would have withdrawn at the first sign of rejection. It was too late for that now, too late to protect himself from her. He ran his fingers through the tangled strands, slowly, deliberately. Her shoulders slumped; she rested her chin on her knees, passively permitting the touch. 

Finally, she leaned away from him, back toward the window, withdrawing. He took the hint, clasped his hands behind his back. 

She stared at nothing for a long moment. Then, finally, "You broke my heart, Derek," she said simply. "You can't put it back together that easily." Her voice was quiet, empty of everything except the words themselves. 

"I didn't expect to." He came around to stand before her, leaned on the wall opposite, and crossed his arms over his chest. "What we've done... can't be undone. But there are... other considerations." 

She looked up at him, they grey eyes sparking with cold challenge. "Such as?" 

"Your oath as a Guardian." 

She stared at him for a long moment--- then she laughed. 

It was harsh laughter, near-hysterical and sharp with pain. "My oath... as a Guardian." She shook her head slightly, her breath still coming in short, quick pants. "What can that possibly matter to _you_?" She leaned forward, clasped her arms around her knees and stared up at him with a pale cold light in her eye. 

That one word got through his last defenses, cut him to the quick. In that one word, she had suddenly negated all they had shared, all that they had been to each other... rendered it all meaningless. 

He closed his eyes against the pain, fought the tremors. She had been all he'd had. There was nothing left.... 

When he was master of himself again, he opened his eyes. She'd turned from him, staring out the window at nothing. 

If there was anything left of them, he would have to be the one to save it. "The question," he said gravely, "is what that oath means to _you_." 

She looked up at him, eyes smoldering through a curtain of hair. "Enough that I should damn well run you through where you stand---" Never mind she had no sword, was unarmed and essentially helpless in his power. 

Which was an indication that she still trusted him, on _some_ level... or perhaps that she simply didn't care if he killed her. 

He shrugged it off. "And would you be as eager to battle _another_ of your infant king's enemies?" 

_That_ got her attention. The grey eyes flickered with hot light, dimmed into suspicion. "And who," she asked guardedly, "would that be?" 

He forced a thin smile. "Why, only his parents' killer, of course." And, as she studied him cautiously, he clarified. "Abdiel." 

He had the satisfaction of watching her start, violently. She shook her hair off her face and stared up at him, eyes wide... and, for the first time since he'd entered the room, truly focused on him--- on _him_, his words, and not her own wounds. "What are you suggesting?" 

He took a deep breath. "I have reason to believe that Robes is Abdiel's puppet." Flicker of triumph in the cold grey eyes, mocking and hard. 

He swallowed his pride, though it nearly choked him, and bowed his head slightly. "You were right not to trust him, Maigrey." 

The triumph in her eyes drained from puzzlement to suspicion--- then to cold mirth. "This is a moment to remember," she said dryly. "I've never once before heard you admit that I was right when you weren't." 

A week ago that statement would have galled him--- now, he could only see it as an opening. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "I'm only now beginning to realize... just how valuable our partnership was to me." 

The light in her eyes brightened sharply--- then refracted as a tear slipped over her lashes to trickle down the bandaged cheek. She shuddered violently, turned away from him, tucking tighter into a ball as she stared out the window. 

He pushed off the wall, came to stand behind her. "Maigrey, I'm not asking you to... to come back to me." He had to fight to keep his tone even, not say the words in a rush. "I'm not fool enough for _that_." As close as they stood, he felt her start, felt her body quiver at his words. "This is a business proposition, nothing more." 

"A business proposition." She said the words slowly, as if tasting them. And, slowly, turned back to him, looking at him over her shoulder through a cloud of pale soft hair. "And what, exactly, is your... proposition?" 

"Help me hunt down Abdiel." That was as plain as he could make it. "We're two of the only people left who can defeat him---" 

"Thanks to your revolutionary friends." The coldness in her tone was a worse rebuke than a blow. 

He bowed his head, not contesting it. "Can you fault me, my lady... for wanting to remedy a mistake?" 

_That_ got through to her; he read her response in the flash of the grey eyes, the sudden color in her cheek. "No," she said, on a trembling breath, "I can't." 

"Then help me." There was room on the window seat for two; he sat beside her. And played his trump card. "Maigrey... I can't defeat him alone." Galling admission, perhaps... but he rather imagined she'd enjoy being needed. 

He held out a hand to her. "Come with me... please."   
  


*****   
  
  
  


Maigrey stared at Sagan's outstretched hand, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. 

Was it possible? Was there a way for her to keep _all_ her oaths? 

This morning, waking up to the sight of the gutted ruins of the Glitter Palace staring at her in silent accusation, she'd have considered it impossible. Her honor was in ruins no matter which way she turned. To side with her commander--- with, God help her, the only man she'd ever loved--- was to betray her king and her comrades. And to protect her king... was to abandon Derek. Whichever way she turned, she was a traitor. 

And he was the one who had done it to her. In one night, he'd destroyed everything. Most of all, her faith in him... and in herself. 

And now, in a few words... he'd offered it all to her again. 

It was the only path open to her. The only way to keep her honor intact. 

Abdiel. The murderer of her king... of Semele. Dear God... Semele's killer. Didn't she owe her friend that vengeance? 

Didn't she owe it to Semele to see that her son grew up in safety? 

And... _he_ was asking. Asking for _her_. 

Wasn't that what she'd always wanted? 

Always... until a week ago. Now all she wanted... was some vestige of her honor. 

Which, after all, was what he was offering. 

Offering. He'd come to her. He'd said he... valued her. Not love... but it was something. Some sign she was more to him, perhaps, than a convenience. Or at least, if she was a convenience, she was _too_ convenient to do without. 

She mattered to him, plain and simple. Mattered enough to make him beg, to make him humble himself at least a little, for her. 

Slowly, she unwrapped her arms from around her knees. Slowly... reached out her hand. 

Her fingers touched his, hesitantly--- burned. It was all she could do not to cry out, to snatch her hand away as if from a flame. 

But she didn't. She slipped her hand into his. 

His fingers closed around hers, almost convulsively; his eyes registered disbelief. 

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, deliberately, she slipped her hand from his grasp. 

"Well, _Commander_," she said, the irony leaden in her voice--- "what's the plan?" 

He smiled wryly, his eyes on hers warm and shadowed and dark. "You won't like it." 

Her lips twisted. "I don't like it already. Tell me."   
  


*****   
  


"You were right. I _don't_ like this." 

They were onboard Robes' private ship, the _Demos_... en route to the President's private quarters. It was ship's night; the area was deserted... as he'd requested when he'd asked for the meeting. 

He glanced over at her, walking beside him. "Do you have a better idea?" 

Her lips twitched. "Don't ask--- you won't like the answer." 

He felt his own lips twitching in response. This rapid-fire exchange was nothing like what they'd had before... but it was a beginning. 

"How much farther?" He could understand her asking; _Demos_ was a private craft, not standard military issue... and he'd always suspected its labyrinthine design was deliberate. 

"Not much." His lips twitched. "I didn't think you were that anxious to see the man." 

"I want to get this over with--- before my common sense gets the better of me." 

He shot her a sharp glance--- met twinkling grey eyes. "Enough." 

They'd arrived at the door to Robes' private suite. Sagan put his hand on the palmplate that would admit him. The doors slid open. They entered. 

_Demos_ had been Robes', through his family money, before the revolution; Sagan had been in this room a dozen times before. For the first time, the deliberately simple furnishings, the little homey touches that said that Robes, unlike the rest of the Blood Royal, did not live in antiquated luxury... seemed contrived, more false even than the Glitter Palace at its worst. 

Beside him, Maigrey snorted; no need to ask what _her_ impression of the place was. 

Sounds of life from the study, located off the sitting room where they now stood. "Derek," Robes' practiced actor's voice floated in, "I must confess I was astonished when you said you wanted to see me, and in such secrecy." The man himself, clad in a dressing gown over slacks, came into the room. "This is---" His eyes flicked past Sagan... found Maigrey. "Even more of a surprise than I'd thought," he finished, seeming rather nonplused. 

Sagan could _feel_ Maigrey smothering a smile. Robes continued. "Major Morianna," he said to Maigrey, "I was under the impression that you had chosen to _betray your commander_rather than side with the forces of democracy---" 

Maigrey smiled, rather too brightly. Sagan fought a wince. "That's a rather heavy-handed rhetorical style, _Mr. President_," she told Robes cheerfully. "I'd suggest you tone it down for the vids." Robes spluttered--- a pause of which Maigrey took advantage. "As for my choices---" She rested her hand on Sagan's arm. Her fingers were ice, as cold as the calculation that went into that touch--- "you were misinformed." 

Sagan cleared his throat. "The rift between myself and Major Morianna was a ruse, Mr. President--- a hedge against possible betrayal. You may rest assured that her loyalty to the Republic is as trustworthy as mine." Which, technically, was true. 

Robes recovered his poise at that, smiled. "This is excellent news, indeed, Derek---" Maigrey shot Sagan a glance which said she knew damned well exactly how much he appreciated the familiarity--- "But I'm forgetting my manners." He smiled, charming and jovial. "Please, sit down---" 

"No need---" Sagan began. 

"We wouldn't want to take you from your rest a moment longer than necessary," Maigrey finished... for all the world as if they still had the mind-link binding their thoughts. 

Robes smiled. "Which I do appreciate." He took a second look at Maigrey. "Whatever happened to your cheek, Major?" 

Sagan tensed, cursed himself. They hadn't talked about how they were going to explain the wound. Too painful a topic, for both of them. 

But Maigrey only smiled. "This?" She touched her cheek gently. "I'm afraid I got knocked unconscious by a mortar round, just outside the Palace---" She shot Sagan a fond glance which he'd have mistaken for the real thing, if he hadn't known better. "Derek found me, brought me to the hospital." 

Sagan felt his gut twist. If only _that_ were true.... 

Robes nodded gravely. "I'm glad it was nothing serious---" A sly glance at Sagan. "And I certainly hope it won't mar your beauty any. There are those who would have cause to regret _that!"_

Sagan bit his lip on a wince. He hoped Maigrey enjoyed the irony of _that_ little remark... because he certainly didn't. 

"At any rate," Robes continued, "I presume the two of you intend to track down the other members of the Golden Squadron." Robes looked from Sagan to Maigrey and back. "I trust that you'll be able to find your comrades and bring them to their senses--- or to justice?" 

Sagan carefully did _not_ look at Maigrey; Robes was clearly not about to heed her advice. He stepped forward slightly. "Unfortunately, Mr. President, the other members of the squadron made good their escape---" 

"But surely---" Robes interjected, "they would have shared their plans with Major Morianna, since she appeared to have sided with the royalists---" 

Maigrey shook her head slightly. "The rest of the squadron, of course, knew about the mind-link between Derek and me," she said. "They determined to keep their plans a secret from me for that reason--- and I could hardly protest without revealing myself as a traitor in their eyes." 

Robes was _not_ pleased. "Indeed," he said ungraciously. "Then I assume, at least, that you, Major, will be able to track them down, by continuing the ruse?" 

Which fit their plans perfectly, though Robes didn't know it. "Of course," Maigrey said smoothly. "Though I'm afraid it won't be a speedy process." She smiled--- as blood-curdling an expression as Robes' for sheer dishonesty. "You see, we agreed to split up precisely in order to avoid detection. Any attempt to contact the others immediately might cause them to question my loyalty." She chuckled. "However justified that questioning might be. We'd be advised to wait a suitable interval before trying anything." 

Robes pursed his lips, not pleased. "Do you agree with this, Derek?" he asked peremptorily. 

"Completely, Mr. President." _Chew on _that_, Peter_. "Major Morianna's reasoning is sound." 

"And what exactly would a 'suitable interval' be, Major?" Robes turned cold eyes on her. 

Maigrey shrugged disarmingly. "I couldn't say, sir--- it really depends on the political climate of the galaxy as a whole. If the search for the Guardians is allowed to fall by the wayside, so to speak---" 

Sagan smothered a smile. He had to hand it to Maigrey--- she'd outmaneuvered Robes, and found a way to keep the rest of the Squadron safe. 

He hadn't been lying when he said he needed her.... 

Robes nodded, the slight frown replaced by a more obvious smile. "I see your point," he said thoughtfully. "Take off the pressure so that they let down their guard... and then---" He held up a hand, made the fingers into a fist. "Gather them in." 

"Precisely." If it hadn't been for the slight twitching of Maigrey's chill fingers against his arm, even Sagan wouldn't have known that she was seething. 

Robes smiled approvingly. "Good work, Major." He turned to Sagan, smiling even more ingratiatingly. 

Inwardly, Sagan winced. Whatever Robes was about to say, he was certain that Maigrey would appreciate it even less than he would. The man had a truly tasteless sense of humor in some respects. 

Robes was oblivious. "I'm glad for you, Derek--- I know what it would have meant to you to lose this lady's... companionship---" he laughed, then turned back to Maigrey--- "and I'm very glad for the Republic that we have you on our side after all, Major." Robes yawned, perhaps a trifle too stagily. "And now, if you'll both excuse me--- I'm afraid I've had a rather tiring day in service to the people---" 

Sagan didn't need the mind-link to read Maigrey's thought: How in the _hell_ do a dozen press conferences serve the people? 

He was starting to wonder, himself. 

But all he said was, "Of course, Mr. President. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice." 

Robes chuckled. "Your news certainly warranted it!" He showed them out himself, gracious to the last. 

On the walk back down to the shuttle, Sagan didn't dare look at Maigrey. They'd disrupted the monitors, to be sure--- 

But someone was likely to notice if one or the other of them burst out laughing--- or cursing--- in the middle of the hall.   
  


******   
  


Maigrey waited until they got back to their shuttle before she let herself go. 

"My God!" she exclaimed, falling into the copilot's chair with an exaggerated sigh. "That was the most appalling--- farce--- I've ever participated in!" 

"Come now, my lady," Sagan chided, half-teasing. "It was fairly painless---" 

"He's a slimy weasel, and I don't understand how you could ever have trusted him," Maigrey shot back dryly. She slouched down in her seat as Sagan slid into the pilot's seat next to her, started up the engines. 

"I liked that bit about 'the political climate,'" Sagan commented dryly as he nudged the ship out the hangar doors. "Arranging it so that Robes has an incentive to protect our former comrades---" 

Maigrey wondered if he'd bought into the line she'd fed Robes. _Our... former._ But all she said was, "I thought it a nice touch." If nothing else, the banter was a pleasant change from the tension between them. 

"You would." Sagan turned the plane toward one of the other ships in Robes' escort--- their "home base" for the moment. Until she left to begin the search for Abdiel. "If I didn't know better, I might wonder where your loyalties lie." 

"No need to wonder," Maigrey retorted. "The same place yours used to." She bit her lip as his face went suddenly, carefully blank--- the tenuous thread of humor between them broken. 

Well, she was damned if she'd apologize. It was _true_. And maybe if she'd stayed on his case a little more, he wouldn't have gotten involved in the revolution in the first place. She'd been his second; it was her duty to play devil's advocate when he needed it.... 

She'd tried, hadn't she? And she hadn't wanted to vex him... she'd only been trying to make him happy--- 

Her lip twisted. The road to Hell was paved with good intentions, wasn't that the saying? 

They made the rest of the trip in silence. It wasn't the old companionable silence of recent years, much less the warm wordless closeness they'd had as children... but at least it wasn't bitter. 

She rested on a hand on her cheek, where the skin under the bandage had started to itch. It was only for show, to keep the mark out of Robes' sight; it was all too obviously a sword-scar. Fortunately, she wouldn't be seeing a lot of people for a while... not once she commenced her hunt for Abdiel. Strictly a covert operation. 

She peeled off the bandage, scratched carefully at the sore spot. 

Considering everything, "not bitter"... wasn't half bad.   
  
  
  


*****   
  
  
  


Sagan's temporary flagship was a commandeered Royal Navy cruiser; stepping out of the shuttle onto the deck, with Maigrey beside him, he experienced a queer, painful surge of deja vu. Almost, he could believe they were together in truth, as he'd meant for them to be.... 

Maigrey shook her head softly, her hair brushing over his arm in an unconscious caress. He felt his skin twitch slightly, where the soft strands had touched. "Disorienting, isn't it?" Her voice was loud in the stillness. They were alone here--- the former commander had had some odd preferences, the private hangar adjacent to his equally private quarters being only one. Sagan had known about most of those... preferences... when he'd requested this ship. 

All of which preparation had been moot. Or... perhaps not. 

He raised an eyebrow. "Eh?" 

She shrugged. "Being here... like this. It's surreal." 

He started to ask her to elaborate, decided against pushing her. "My lady?" He held out a hand. She took it, and together they walked across to the entrance to the ship proper. 

At the door she spoke, almost to herself. "Someday, we could have had something like this for ourselves." 

He paused, turned to face her. It was a terrible risk, but he had to take it. 

He opened his mouth to speak. 

_Someday, we still could._

She met his eyes... held up a hand. "Don't say it, Derek." Her voice was gentle, but uncompromising. "We have work to do. That's enough." 

Enough... for her, perhaps. Not for him. 

But it was all he was going to get, apparently. 

Well, he'd make do. He'd learned how to do _that_ long before he'd ever known her. 

"All right," he said quietly. Then, because he couldn't not--- "The offer stands." 

She shrugged slightly, meaning that it was of no moment to her. 

Which hurt in itself worse than the rejection. 

They stepped through into the commander's quarters. 

Maigrey blinked, looked around her... and laughed. 

It was a genuine, delighted sound... something he'd never thought to hear from her again. "This is Masian's ship---" She turned to look at him, her eyes dancing. "You _didn't_." 

He had to laugh with her. "I did." It was a known secret in the Royal Navy that Admiral Konrad Masian's rather hedonistic Blood Royal wife liked to drop in on him when he and his fleet were out on maneuvers... so much so that he'd had his quarters adapted to meet her... whims. The private hangar let off into the suite adjoining the standard "admiral's quarters"... which rooms were lavishly decorated in the best that Masian's salary... and his wife's family money... could buy. 

Maigrey stepped away from him, looking around the room. "Good God," she said, still with a hint of laughter in her voice, "this place was a legend in the Fleet---" She looked over her shoulder at him, mischievously. "I could have had free drinks for the rest of my life in any officer's club in the Royal Navy off giving descriptions of this room." 

Sagan stepped inside, closed the doors. "Then I'm rather glad you didn't get to see them before now. You got drunk often enough as it was." He locked the doors--- to the outside, letting her see that she could leave if she chose. She acknowledged that courtesy with a slight tilt of her head. 

"Spoilsport," she answered his remark, starting to meander about the room, poking into things. "Why in God's name did you pick Masian's Flying Dutchman---" he snorted at the insult--- "You could have had any ship in the Fleet, I assume." She shot him an arch look. 

He shrugged, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, watching her. "Well, at the time I made the request, I was operating under the assumption that we'd need shared quarters, and I thought the arrangement Masian had would suit us admirably." 

Maigrey paused in her exploration, turned back to look at him. For a long moment they regarded one another in silence. 

It was he who looked away first, with a little shrug. "It's still convenient," he said. "You can use the private hangar when you need to report in, and have your own quarters---" he gestured around him, indicating this room and the attached bedroom--- "when you choose." 

She nodded. "And thanks to the cover story we spun for Robes---" 

"_You_ spun, my lady." 

She acknowledged the credit with a smile. "I've got every excuse in the galaxy to do just that." She resumed her exploration of the sitting area. 

Sagan watched her in silence, cherishing the moment of peace, of equilibrium between them. Once, he'd thought--- had honestly believed--- that she'd be happy to share this ship--- this _life---_ with him. Now it was simply enough that they could share a room together with no harsh words exchanged. 

And, he admitted to himself, he took a deep and painful, bittersweet pleasure in watching her move gracefully about the room: the way her hair made a nimbus about her head and shoulders, the flowing curve of her hips and shoulders as she bent to examine some oddment, the smooth white line of her throat--- 

She broke the silence with a muted laugh. "Good God," she said, running her fingers over the arm of an overstuffed couch. "This is Adonian damask--- must have half bankrupted poor Konrad---" 

Sagan snorted--- dared a slight joke. "Well, knowing your tastes, my lady, I thought it appropriate to provide you with certain modest---" 

One of the matching throw pillows on the couch abruptly lived up to its name--- with deadly accuracy. He caught it before it could hit him in the face. "I could have wished you were as accurate with a las-gun, my lady." He lofted the pillow back to her. "That's an expensive plaything---" 

"There's not a piece in this room wouldn't buy everything in my old quarters, with plenty of spare change left over." She set the pillow back on the couch, sank down into the cushions with a little laugh, closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the couch for a moment. "What in God's name do you think possessed Masian to---" she waved a hand around the room. 

The opening was _perfect;_ Sagan couldn't resist. He came to stand over her; a flicker of her lashes showed that she felt his nearness, but she didn't open her eyes. "I imagine," he said quietly, "that he must have loved her very much." 

Now Maigrey did open her eyes, to look up at him steadily. Her lower lips trembled slightly. "Yes," she said on a shaky breath, "I imagine he did." 

Silence crackled between them for a moment. "May I?" he asked, indicating the empty space on the couch next to her. 

Her laugh bordered on the hysterical, shrill with tension. "Well," she said, looking up at him mischievously, "I _had _wanted to see if the wet bar was as well stocked as the rest---" 

He took a step back. "Far may it be from me to spoil your amusements---" That rejection hurt too, for all it was couched in banter. 

The mirth left her eyes. "It can wait," she said solemnly, gestured to the space beside her. "Stay." 

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and did as he was bidden. 

A long silence again--- not like their old peaceful moments of quiet, but awkward, tense, uncertain. They couldn't look at each other... or anywhere else. 

"I'm sorry, he said, starting to rise. "This was foolish---" 

She held out a hand, arresting the movement. He turned to her, feeling the blood rush in his ears. 

"Thank you," she said finally. "Thank you... for what you tried to do." 

He closed his eyes a moment, got a breath and another. "You... understand, then," he said quietly, feeling the words catch in his throat. 

"Yes... and no." He opened his eyes to see her regarding him with an almost doggedly sardonic expression. "I'll never understand why you thought treason was..." She paused for a long moment, clearly trying to choose the right words. "the only course open to you," she finished finally. "But I understand that you wanted to give me something---" 

"I would," he said quietly, "have made you queen of the galaxy, if you had wanted it." The words were out quite before he'd thought about them--- but once said, he wouldn't have unsaid them... for the galaxy that he'd offered her. 

She put her hand to her mouth, involuntary gesture. They regarded each other for a long and painful moment. "That wasn't," she said at last, "what I wanted. Especially not from you." 

He flinched at one rejection too many. "And what," he asked, fighting for breath, "did you want... from me?" 

Another long silence. Then Maigrey shook her head. "When you don't have to ask that," she said softly, "then perhaps I'll take what else---" she gestured around her--- "you want to offer." 

She got to her feet; he stood hastily, stunned and aching. "I think I'll turn in," she said, turning toward the door to the bedroom. 

The door she'd have known for her bedroom by the lack of the keypad beside it--- the other one was the connecting door to his suite. "Maigrey," he said, stopping her. "You can lock the connecting door from this side, if you want. The one in the bedroom's already locked." 

She looked back at him; he could see her swallow, almost convulsively. "Thank you." A pause. "For everything." 

Then she passed through the door and out of sight. 

It was some moments before he could bring himself to walk through the door to his suite... to a bedroom that was painfully empty... lonely. 

He didn't lock his door.   
  
  
  


*****   
  


Althea Masian's taste for excess extended to her bedroom. 

Maigrey sank down on the gel-bed, stared up at the mirrored ceiling and ran her fingers of the Magellean-silk quilt... and tried to make her thoughts quit doing elliptic orbits around her common sense. 

Her thoughts laughed in her face. 

_He must have loved her very much._

_I would have made you queen of the galaxy...._

Damn him to hell. 

She rolled over on her side, curled up into a ball. 

Why in the name of God couldn't he have said things like that a month ago? When she'd have given anything to hear them? She'd have sold her soul for--- 

She relaxed a little on bed, laughed darkly. Well, apparently not her _soul_. 

She reached into the collar of her uniform shirt, brought out the starjewel, cupped it in her hand. 

King's Guardian. She was still that, whatever else she _wasn't_. 

She rolled over on the bed, looked across the room at the connecting door. 

The door to his bedroom. What she wouldn't have given for _that_ a few months ago. Discreet, private... convenient. 

God, what a temptation.... 

Like the gates to Hell. 

And was it her imagination, or did the starjewel's clear, pure light flicker and dim, just a bit, with that thought? 

Well, if it didn't, it should have. 

Maigrey laughed ruefully, got to her feet, and went to inspect the bathroom. 

Which inspection yielded truly Romanesque luxuries, chief of which was a ten-foot hot tub, already filled and bubbling, the water under a forcefield to keep it in place during maneuvers. 

She stared down at the hot tub, contemplating. It wasn't as if she actually had a schedule to keep. She could sleep in tomorrow if she wanted. 

And if Derek didn't like it, he could screw _himself_. He wasn't her commander... or her lover. Not anymore. 

A quick detour to the wetbar revealed an appropriately sybaritic selection; she eschewed her old favorite, vodka martinis, in favor of something a little more exotic. 

Another glance from the connecting door in the bedroom to her starjewel decided her against Cormorys--- which had a more reliable reputation than oysters. She rifled through the bottles again. 

"Ah-ha!" Eilaehan rum cost more per ounce than she'd made in a year in the Royal Navy... and there was an entire decanter of it here. Perfect. 

A few minutes later, she was lounging in the tub, the highball glass tucked neatly into a cupholder that appeared to have been made for it. She leaned her arms back along the rim of the bath and sighed. 

Romanesque luxury... indeed. Time was, she'd teased Derek about that. _As long as you're going to admire the Romans, my lord, why not give the Stoics a rest and try..._ her fingers running along his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple and bunch at her touch... sliding up into the soft thick silk of his hair, tugging at the thong that held it tied back... _Oh, say, the Epicureans._

He'd glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirking. _You've done enough of that for both of us, my lady._ A damnable lie, of course, except that she drank. 

And, often as not after that little exchange, he'd pull her into his arms for a kiss... which sometimes--- if they _had_ time--- led somewhere interesting.... 

God. She sighed, sank deeper into the tub and scooped up her drink, took a slow sip. Damn good thing she hadn't drunk the Cormorys... her own hormones were bad enough. 

Time was she'd have been making plans to slip a little of the Cormorys into Derek's drink.... 

Not that he'd ever needed it either. 

When he wasn't showing off his self-control, of course. 

She took a larger sip of rum. Maybe if she could get drunk enough... she could forget where that door in her bedroom led. 

The decanter was half-gone before she felt sufficiently numb to try to sleep.   
  


*****   
  


"I see the wetbar met with your approval," Sagan commented dryly when Maigrey came into his office the next... afternoon. 

She shot him a baleful glance from red-rimmed eyes before dropping into a chair with a slight grimace. "Spare me your sanctimony. I'm not _in_ your chain of command anymore, in case you've forgotten." 

Oh, he hadn't... though he wished he could. He'd spent all night staring at that damn door. 

"In that case, why don't you _finish_ sleeping off your hangover?" he retorted dryly. "You haven't got a duty roster." 

She snorted, sniffed slightly. "What about---" 

"You're in no shape to discuss strategy at the moment." His tone brooked no argument. 

It was as good an excuse as any to keep her here, at least for another day. As distracting as that door was with her behind it, he'd sleep better with her there than... elsewhere. 

Not least because of _where_ she'd be. He didn't like to think about her facing Abdiel alone. 

But it was all he could offer... that would let her keep her honor. 

Another baleful glare--- then a rueful laugh. "'Plus ça change...'" she said, getting to her feet. "There was a day when I'd have been grateful you told me to sleep it off." And with that, she was out the door. 

The scent of her skin lingered in the air, stealing his breath.   
  
  
  


*****   
  


"Do you approve?" They stood in the private hangar of the ship. 

"Approve...." Maigrey's voice was soft, breathless, as she stared at the little spaceplane in front of her. "This looks exactly like my old designs." Her eyes danced. 

"That's the point." Her reaction was... far less than he'd intended when he'd first conceived the idea--- before the revolution--- but far more than he'd feared a week ago when the shipwright delivered it. "Go ahead--- see for yourself." He wondered, God help him, what she'd think of _Phoenix_.... She hadn't minded Masian's ship, the twin quarters here.... 

She shot him an uncertain glance; he answered it with a slight jerk of his head toward the plane.

Hesitantly, she walked forward, touched the wing... then, with increasing confidence and evident delight, ducked underneath, examining the craft minutely. She climbed up the built-in ladder to the hatch, lowered herself inside. 

Standing outside on the deck, he could hear her faint exclamations of pleasure and surprise from within. He climbed the ladder, looked down into the plane's interior. "Does it meet with your approval, my lady?" 

Slight clanging from fo'ard, then Maigrey's head appeared above the ladder down to the cockpit. "You have to ask?" She was grinning... that real, delighted grin he never thought he'd have from her again. 

Reward enough. 

She climbed the rest of the way up the ladder onto the deck in the living quarters. "It's perfect," she said. "The perfect one-person long-range scoutship." 

He couldn't resist a gentle barb; the banter was safer than sentiment. "For _your_ tastes, my lady." 

Her smile was impish. "Then isn't it a good thing that it's _my_ ship?" She put her hands on her hips, looked around. "This is amazing." 

A long silence, perhaps the most pleasant moment they'd shared together since before... that night. Then she looked up at him. "The perfect going-away present." 

He'd given it to her with that in mind, of course... but now that she said it, it hurt. "You don't have to leave immediately, if you don't want to." 

"Then why give this to me?" She gestured around her. 

"So that you'd know you _could_ leave." He regarded her earnestly. 

She stared at him for a moment, then looked away, folding her arms across his chest. "You said it yourself--- this is a business proposition," she said quietly. "It's time I started fulfilling my end of the bargain." 

He could only nod, dumb with pain. He'd hoped this gift _might_ make her reconsider--- something just for her, something that _showed_ he'd listened to her, showed he cared.... 

But it wasn't. Perhaps nothing would be. 

"All right," he said. "Come to my office with me--- we've much to discuss." He waited until he saw her move toward the hatch, then dropped down the ladder. 

He waited for her at the foot of the ladder... thought seriously about helping her down, his hands on her waist. Old times... the few occasions when they'd landed by themselves somewhere.... 

But he didn't. He waited until she let go of the ladder, held out his hand to her. 

She took it, simply--- nothing behind the gesture but courtesy. 

At least, not for her. 

They went back into their quarters.   
  
  
  


****   
  


In his office, Maigrey sat on the couch, her legs stretched lazily out in front of her. "What now?" 

He settled himself behind his desk, keyed up a series of files. "This is everything I have that relates to Abdiel," he said gravely, "and specifically to his connection with Robes. It's not much, I'm afraid." He looked up at her, let his eyes smile his confidence. "You'll have your work cut out for you." 

"I'd expected that." She looked at him intently. "You could have given me those files any time--- I could have looked them over before now." 

"I'm still gathering data--- and your ship wasn't ready. You'd have had to catch up on the latest material anyhow." His lips twisted. "Besides, I rather thought you were enjoying your... recreation." Meaning the fact that she'd put a serious dent in the contents of the wetbar. 

Maigrey snorted. "Not that much." She tilted her head slightly. "But you'd have found another excuse, wouldn't you?" Her voice was soft, not accusing... not welcoming, either. 

He looked away, quickly, before his feelings could show on his face. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." 

He heard her hair swish slightly over the back of the couch as she shook her head. "You don't want me to leave, do you? You think this place---" she gestured around her--- "can win me over." 

He swallowed hard. "The second part, no." 

"But the first?" Her eyes were knowing, mocking, on him. 

He met her gaze, with difficulty. "Would it be such a terrible thing, for me to want your company a little longer?" 

Now it was her turn to look away abruptly. "Derek," she said softly, "you hurt me. What you've done... God... how could I respect myself if I condoned treason--- whatever the cause?" She looked back at him. "I made a bargain with you. I'll keep my end of it." She got to her feet; hastily, he stood as well, courtesy. "Do you have a disk of the reports?" 

He tapped a key. "They're on the console in your quarters." 

"Good." She moved toward the door. 

"That's not everything." His voice stopped her. "We need to discuss rendevous points, schedules--- emergency measures." 

Her lips twitched, perhaps amused. "Let me read the damn reports first--- get some idea what I'm dealing with--- besides the obvious, I mean." She looked back at him. "As far as the other... rest assured, my lord, that if I want to, I'll find you." 

And with that, she went out the door. 

For a long time afterward, he stared after her.   
  
  
  


*****   
  
  
  


It was two days before she _finally_ got him to let her leave. 

Every time she _thought_ she was ready, Derek came up with one more... stalling tactic. That was all she could call it. 

Damn it all to hell, why couldn't he have been this... _insistent_ on her company when they were... together? 

Why did it have to take an utter disaster to make him show any kind of concern, any kind of interest, in her as a person? 

And, damn _again_, it was utter torture sitting there night after night and looking at the door to his bedroom. That was half the reason she drank. _More_ than half. 

Well, she thought as they stood in front of her ship, at least there wouldn't be any more of that temptation... not for a while. She had work to do as a Guardian. 

They looked at each other, awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. It was the first time since they'd known each other that they'd really be _apart_ without even the mind-link joining them. 

Bittersweet, that; under the circumstances, it would almost a relief to get away. 

A relief... and an agony. She wouldn't know what he was doing, where he was, how he was. Wouldn't have the comfort of that reassuring solid presence at the back of her mind, like a rock to set her back against. 

Wouldn't even have the damn connecting door. 

He broke the silence first. "The fleet--- my fleet--- is scheduled for a first cruise of my sector, starting tomorrow." So _that_ was why he'd finally decided to let her go. "The coordinates for the rendevous points are in your nav computer." 

She nodded. "Don't worry--- I'll find you." Stupid to say it... but she couldn't resist. 

A slight smile touched his lips. "I'm glad to hear it." Another awkward pause. "Maigrey--- be careful." 

"You, too." She looked away, then--- looked back as his hand found hers, carried her fingers to his lips. 

"My lady," he said softly, his breath warm on her chilled skin. 

She swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers. "My lord." 

Then, fast as she could, she turned away, pulling her hand free of his touch, and headed up the ladder. 

She didn't look back... but she could feel his eyes on her... feel him watching as she pulled through the forcefield and out of the hangar. 

She made the Jump, heading for the "Common House"--- Robes' private little retreat, still under construction. 

And sat back in her chair. And wished, very much, for the wetbar in her quarters. 

Damn... she was going to _miss_ that connecting door.   
  
  
  
  
  


*****   
  
  
  


Six weeks later--- the first rendevous. 

Maigrey dropped out of the Jump to find the huge white shells of Sagan's fleet sitting in front of her, just as he'd promised. Punctual as always. 

And she was early. It was ship's night; she was scheduled to meet him in the morning. 

Well, better early than late. She could let herself into the hangar, into her quarters, and get reacquainted with the wetbar and the hot tub. 

She stretched in sensuous anticipation. Her shoulders were tight; her back felt like one hot mass of pain. Six weeks of watching over her shoulder for the worst enemy imaginable.... 

Six weeks of being constantly conscious of the dull empty ache in her mind where _Derek _belonged.... 

She cut off that line of thought in a hurry. Tonight, she could also get reacquainted with that damn connecting door, temptation that it was. 

She brought her ship into the hangar using the automatic codes, locked herself in. Got her report out of the computer and headed for her suite. 

The first thing she did was to dump the report into his computer. He'd see it next morning in the secured folder he'd put there for the purpose. 

Business handled for now, she poured herself a vodka martini and headed for the tub. 

On her way through the bedroom, she paused, drink in hand, and looked at the connecting door. A wicked thought flickered through her mind. 

He probably kept his door locked anyway. It was a silly notion. 

Well... there was no harm in seeing. She set the martini, untasted, on the dresser. Opened her half of the door. 

Touched his, lightly. Probably locked--- 

It wasn't. 

The door slid back at her touch. 

Sagan's bedroom was just as she had known it would be. Spare, austere, Spartan and monastic. The only difference between these quarters and his old ones was that the furnishings were better quality. The hard bed in the corner was just big enough for his large, muscular frame. 

He was asleep, his back to the wall, his long dark hair tied back, falling on the pillow in a silky-soft tail. The blanket was half off, revealing his broad shoulders and bare chest--- all hard muscle and scars and coarse black hair. 

She swallowed hard. _Bad idea, Maigrey_. She turned to go--- 

Sagan stirred, opened his eyes. "Wha---" 

She turned back to him, her heart pounding in her chest. "It's me." 

He blinked a few times at her, pushed himself up on one elbow. "Maigrey---" 

"I got back early--- I--- I just wanted to let you know." She caught herself before she could start to stammer. "My report's in your computer. We can talk in the morning." She turned to go. 

"Wait---" He held out a hand. "Stay a minute." He sat up, started to swing his legs over the side of the bed--- and stopped, abruptly. 

A wave of hot pleasure tempered with mirth swept over her. He always slept naked... a fact she knew... intimately. 

"Or maybe not," she said, forcing her lips into a smile. 

He shook his head. "Give me a minute---" A smile almost as forced as hers. "It seems a rather cold welcome otherwise." 

She swallowed hard against thoughts of former _warm_ welcomes. "It's all right," she said banteringly. "I've got a vodka martini waiting for me---" 

"Ah." He lapsed back on the bed. "I'll leave you to it." 

She only meant to make the moment easier... instead, she seemed to have hurt him. She shook her head. "It can wait." 

Then, her heart pounding its way out of her chest, she came and sat beside him on the bed. He started, visibly. "I'm sorry," she said. 

"Maigrey, I---" he reached out, cupped her cheek. 

She went still under his touch, afraid to move one way or the other. Anything she did would be the wrong thing. 

His fingers were gentle, firm, running tenderly along the scar his sword had left. "Stay awhile." She started. "Not--- I'm not asking anything more," he said hastily. "But I've... missed you." 

"I missed you too." Dangerous thing to admit, when she could feel the heat of his body so close and smell the spicy masculine scent of his skin. She got to her feet, abruptly. "We can talk in the morning." 

He looked up at her, eyes flickering from hurt to resignation. "All right," he said, and lay back on the bed. 

At the door, she turned. "I'm sorry," she said helplessly. 

He looked up at her. "No apology needed. Go--- get some sleep." 

He turned over, facing the wall. Tacit compliment, rather than the rejection it appeared to be--- he trusted her at his back. 

She took that thought with her and the martini to the tub. 

And she left her door not only unlocked but open. 

His, unfortunately, stayed virtuously closed. The whole night.   
  
  
  


*****   
  


Maigrey heard the door to her sitting room open, didn't look up from her book. "Good morning, my lord." 

"My lady." He came to stand over her. _She_ knew he was here to discuss business... but _he _didn't seem in any hurry. He looked at the book in her hands. "What are you reading?" 

Wordlessly, she showed him the cover, her lips twitching in anticipation of his reaction. 

"'The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade.'" He raised an eyebrow. "Your tastes in literature are getting decidedly eccentric, my lady." 

She grinned at him. "They're Althea Masian's tastes... though I confess I'd always wanted to read it." At his inquiring look she explained, "One of my professors at the Academy mentioned it in passing--- I got curious." 

"Ah." She'd taken a number of classes he hadn't, mostly in literature. He considered most fiction a waste of time. 

An awkward little pause, during which Maigrey couldn't help but think of the night before.... 

"I came," Sagan said abruptly, "to ask if... you'd care to join me for breakfast." 

She nearly dropped the book; set it aside carefully. 

This was a response to last night. She wasn't sure if it was revenge, or a peace offering. And if it was revenge...whether it was for walking in on him... or walking out on him. 

Well, she'd started the ball rolling. She got to her feet. "Yes," she said. "I would."   
  


****   
  
  
  


It was a working meal... as most of their meals together had been. Derek never _had_understood the concept of "time off". 

Which, at the moment, was fine with her. 

She didn't have all that much to report. Abdiel certainly was a frequent guest at the Common House... but she hadn't been able to get close enough to hear what he was saying, or doing. 

"Do you want me to try to get in?" she asked, when he sat silent at the close of her report. 

He looked up. "No--- for God's sake, don't put yourself at risk." His vehemence startled both of them; abruptly, he got up from the table. "I think what you've gotten is enough that we can start forming a pattern--- if we look at the record of Robes' decisions and actions and compare them with your timetable." 

"Yes---" Maigrey said, excitement at the thrill of the hunt letting her forget other... tensions. "We can get some sense of where Abdiel's exerting his influence---" 

Sagan nodded. "Come with me--- we'll look over the records together." A significant pause. "You might see something that I'd miss." 

She blinked. There was a red-letter moment for you--- Sagan admitting he needed her. "Thanks," she said simply. 

And followed him into his office.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


Sagan sat at his desk, calling up reports; Maigrey literally looked over his shoulder, pointing out patterns between Robes' actions and Abdiel's visits. 

At one point, he slammed his fist down on the desk. "Damn it--- we can't know--- we can't know if Abdiel's visits relate to what Robes is doing publicly--- or to something we can't see---" 

"I could try to get closer---" Maigrey said, feeling her guts knot at the thought. But it was, after all, her duty--- 

"No!" Sagan said sharply. "It's not safe to risk having you fall into Abdiel's hands--- and besides, who's to say that the increased risk is worth what we'd learn?" 

Cautious, he was... so like him.... 

And she had to admit, she enjoyed having him worry about her. 

They went back to the reports... but now Maigrey was suddenly, deeply, conscious of his warmth close to her, the silk of his hair and the musk of his skin.... She couldn't help thinking about the night before--- 

And a wicked, absurd thought popped into her head--- for which she was grateful; it was a welcome distraction from painfully awkward desires. She hummed a snatch of song under her breath. 

After a few repetitions, Sagan looked up. "I've never heard that piece before." 

She grinned. "It's from the play that I was reading---" She decided to play the game out. "It's got words to it." 

He leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow arching, clearly sensing a joke. "All right, my lady... since you're waiting for me to ask--- what _are_ the words?" 

Her lips twitched. "'What's the good of a revolution without general copulation---'" She stopped, added solemnly, "It's supposed to be sung as a round." 

Sagan regarded her for a long moment. "Anything I say to that," he said slowly, "will be the wrong thing." He turned back to the monitor. "And would it be too much to ask that we return to our work?" 

She affected surprise. "Why, not at all, my lord." She leaned over his chair, feeling ever so much more relaxed. "After all, you were the one who asked about the song." 

He sighed. "So I did, my lady. So I did."   
  


*****   
  


She left the next afternoon; again he saw her off. 

This time it was both easier and harder.   
  


*****   
  


Several more report cycles, with nothing much to report, though they were building a pattern... of sorts. Abdiel's interventions didn't really have a clear pattern in themselves... but some of Sagan's other operatives put together information on various political figures other than Robes which suggested that blackmail was involved. 

"Par for the course," as Sagan said. 

"You mean, for a democracy," Maigrey replied. 

Which inevitably led to a political debate... not actually an unpleasant experience. They were talking now, regularly, more like... friends, almost, except that there was and probably always would be the pain of loss between them. 

What they had now was nothing compared to the mind-link. A little banter, discussion, their work--- that was all. They both treated it with kid gloves, aware that it could very easily shatter. 

It was all they had.   
  


*****   
  


Six months after the revolution; another report. 

"That's it." Maigrey got to her feet. "It's late--- I should probably go to bed; I'd like to leave early tomorrow." She sighed exaggeratedly. "Though I don't know why I bother to hurry--- I'm hardly finding out anything useful---" 

"You find out enough." Sagan got to his feet as well. "However, if there's no pressing reason for you to leave early---" 

She snorted. "Hardly." 

"Then... stay for a day." 

She eyed him narrowly. "What for?" 

"The Republic's shipyards just finished my new flagship. I'd planned on touring her myself this evening..." A pause. "Would you care to join me?" 

The offer had the overtones of a proposal... or at least a proposition. She decided, deliberately cruel, to make him spell it out. "Why?" 

He met her eyes for a long moment... then smiled slightly, inclining his head in acknowledgment of her gambit. "It will be your... base... as well--- at least I assume so." 

She nodded, her lips twitching. "I'd be pleased to."   
  


*****   
  
  
  


Sagan had designed his flagship, _Phoenix_, himself. Which meant not only state of the art technology... but a few more personal touches. 

He hoped Maigrey would appreciate those as well. 

He brought the shuttlecraft toward the gleaming white oval that was his new ship. Cruisers like _Phoenix_ were too large for drydock; the crews had built it in free space, at some distance from the main shipyards. And there it hung, moored to a series of buoys, like a white jewel... or a small world. _His_ world... that he'd meant to share with Maigrey. 

Maigrey, sitting in the copilot's seat, regarded the ship with interest. "Different from the Royal Navy vessels." 

"My design--- though it will be standard for the Republic Navy." He glanced over at her. "What do you think?" 

Her eyes flicked from the ship to him, flickered with humor. "I think it's a good thing I decided to stick around--- you'd have become insufferable inside of a month." 

He felt his lips twitch in response. "I meant about the _ship_." 

She smiled outright. "I'll have to see how it handles before I can make that decision, won't I?" 

"Then you'll have to wait awhile, I'm afraid--- the crew's not yet on board." 

She turned her head to look at him. "Rank hath its privileges," he explained dryly. "We'll be the first to see the ship in its completed state." 

Her eyes lit up at that. "Oh... my." 

He smiled, remembering all the times she'd snuck aboard the ships they were stationed on dockside--- in utter violation of regulations--- to see the vessels when no one else was aboard. Sometimes she'd convinced him to go with her. 

"This time, we're permitted," he said dryly. 

She turned her head, abruptly; he'd pushed too hard, bringing up that memory. 

They made the rest of the trip in silence.   
  
  
  


*****   
  


On board the ship, Maigrey brightened up again, poking into things with her catlike curiosity, asking questions about everything imaginable and a few things that surprised him. 

He answered, outwardly patient, inwardly delighted. This was the first time since the revolution that they'd simply spent _time_ together, doing something they could both enjoy, for more than a few minutes. 

It would have been impossible to explore the whole ship in an evening, but they managed most of the more interesting areas: the hangars, the engineering deck, the bridge... and a few treats. 

The moment he opened the door on the diplomat's lounge, Maigrey gave a little cry and flew straight to the window across from them, tucking herself up on the window seat and pressing her hand to the glass like a delighted child. "This is amazing---" she looked around her, craning her head in every direction at once like a spectator at a null-G tennis match. "You can see everywhere---" 

He chuckled with genuine pleasure at her reaction. "I know. I'm glad you like it." He came to stand behind her--- was reminded forcibly of the last time he stood near her as she looked out a window. 

Maigrey looked up at him, solemnly. "I do." Perhaps she was thinking the same thing. 

He held out his hand to her. "Would you like to see... the rest?" 

She look his eyes, eyes registering puzzled amusement. "Where haven't we been?" 

"You'll see."   
  


****   
  
  
  


His private quarters were on a level apart from the rest of the ship, near the relative "top" of the hull, reachable only by a code-keyed lift. He showed her the code, logged them both into the system. "You'll need access too." 

She frowned slightly; he hadn't told her where he was taking her. "What part of the ship... needs restricted access... that _I'd_ need to get at?" 

He smiled, enjoying her curiosity. "You'll see," he said again, and was rewarded by a frustrated scowl. 

When the lift doors opened to reveal another set of doors, emblazoned with his phoenix crest, she got it. "Your private quarters?" Her voice was wary. 

"You'll still have to report to me, in private, after all," he said equably. Actually, her reporting was going to be easier than she knew. 

Masian had had a _few_ good ideas.... 

He keyed the doors to both of them, as he had with the lift, then gestured for her to proceed him into his office. 

She looked around, quietly, more reserved now... as if she didn't want to get too personal. "This is... rather impressive," she said, studying the banks of computer equipment lining the wall and his desk. 

"A Marshal's duties extend rather beyond those of an admiral's--- it seemed only reasonable to provide myself with the means to carry them out." 

She nodded, running her hand lightly over a console.... then looked significantly, toward the door to her right. "Is this... everything?" 

"No." He stepped past her, opened the door to the bedroom, then stepped back. 

Maigrey moved past him, shooting him a suspicious glance... then looked into the room. 

The furnishings were simple, Spartan... except for the king-sized bed in the center of the room; a room which was laid out in bilateral symmetry, clearly meant for two. 

Sagan watched her as she stared silently; one trembling hand came up, covered her mouth. Her eyes grew suspiciously bright. 

"When I designed the ship," he said quietly, his voice even, "I was operating under the assumption that we'd be living together. I arranged everything accordingly." He stepped a little ways ahead of her, gestured with one arm toward a door opposite the one they'd come through. "Your office is through there. The lift also goes to _your_ doors... and there's a hangar that lets off into the entryway." He smiled slightly. "Masian had a few good notions, I suppose." 

"_My office_... oh, God." She looked away from him then, her shoulders shaking suspiciously. 

Sagan put his hands on her shoulders, turned her back to face him. For a long moment he held her; she looked down, avoiding his eyes. "Maigrey... I didn't mean to hurt you with this---" 

"You didn't," she whispered. "Oh, you didn't...." She turned her head, then looked back. "Shall we have a look at... my half of this extravagance?" 

Her eyes were suspiciously bright... and for once, he didn't mind in the least. "Of course."   
  


*****   
  


She froze again in the doorway to her office, staring at the equipment that was the twin of his. "Oh my God." 

"What?" he asked, worried. "Something not to your liking---" 

"This isn't...." Her voice was faint. "This isn't an XO's office---" 

"Of course not." He came close to the level of nonchalance he'd hoped for. "I'd rather assumed that you'd hold equal rank with me in the Republic--- you're more than qualified, after all---" 

"_Derek_---" Her voice was sharp; she turned hard on her heels and sunk strong fingers into his shoulders. "Damn you---" 

He started under the assault. "Maigrey---" He hadn't thought that it would offend her--- 

Her fury faded as soon as it had come. "You don't understand, do you?" she said quietly, relaxing her hold on him, though she stayed... God help him... close. "All this time... I'd assumed---" her voice broke; she looked down. 

He slid a finger under her chin, gently tilted her head up so that she met his eyes. "Assumed what?" 

"That... that the only reason you'd wanted me in the Revolution to begin with was because it would be... _convenient_ for you to have me." She gave a bitter laugh. "That you wanted me there, just like always, the extension of yourself--- to carry out your orders, to---" She shook her head. "To be a _convenience_, like always." 

"A convenience?" he asked, stunned. Her--- his reason for living, then only spot of bright warmth in a life otherwise cold and dark and lonely--- a _convenience?_

"Oh, yes," she whispered bitterly. "What else could I think I was? You never said otherwise, never showed me anything else---" He tried to interrupt her, the flow of harsh words too painful to bear, but she continued inexorably. "It was _convenient_, to have me as your second--- with the mind- link, I could carry out your orders so much more _efficiently_--- it was convenient..." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper--- "to have me in your bed, because I was willing and because the mind-link let me know what you wanted---" 

"_Maigrey_!" That last was too much. He caught her by the shoulders, shook her roughly. "You were anything but a convenience. God---" his voice shook. "A convenience... like having air to breathe is _convenient_." 

She shuddered under his touch. "Then why in the name of God did you never _tell_ me?" she cried. "No--- you took me for granted, always, just assumed I'd do what you wanted---" She looked down. "Just like the night of the revolution--- you _assumed_ I'd follow you, blindly---" 

"I assumed you'd take what I was offering," he said quietly. "I _assumed_ you'd understand that _this_---" he gestured around the room--- "was what I had in mind." 

"'This'." She looked around her, stepping back, pulling away from his touch. "This... to make me your equal... to let me be your _partner_...." She stepped past him, leaned one hand against the bulkhead, as if for support. 

He stood very still, completely at a loss. He'd always assumed she knew, on some level, what she meant to him--- always rather assumed that she took his love for granted as she had as a child. To learn otherwise was nerve shattering. 

"Tell me, Derek," she said quietly, her back still to him, "was this what you always wanted of me? Partnership?" 

He went to her, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "What I wanted," he said quietly, "was to be the man who could lay the galaxy on a platter at your feet." 

She gasped, going very pale and trembling in his hands. Then, suddenly, she put her hands up on his face, holding him no less firmly than he held her. "Having you for my partner would have _been_ the galaxy to me." 

The world went grey around the edges for a long moment and all he could do was cling to her shoulders and try to get a breath. 

When the world came back to normal, he looked at her. "All you had to do was ask." 

"Ask? You? The man who thought 'sentiment' was a dirty word?" Her laugh bordered on hysterical. "I was always half-afraid to approach you, thinking you'd throw me out because I couldn't control myself enough to suit you...." She broke his grip, turned away. 

"That's one thing I'd have never done," he said. "If you can believe nothing else of me, believe that." 

She shrugged slightly, not a rejection, he thought, but rather a simple sign that she couldn't handle any more input for the moment. 

She moved away from him then, took a turn about the room, examining things, almost by rote, it seemed. He stood in the doorway and watched her... his favorite pastime, really, ever since they were children together. 

Partners. That was all she had wanted. 

He wouldn't be surprised to find himself disappointed in her. He'd never believed her one to settle for such a modest goal. 

She turned back to him as he shifted slightly against the wall. 

"It's getting late." They spoke in unison. 

Maigrey laughed, shakily, came to stand near to him, not touching, but close. "Do you--- should we go back to the ship---" 

"This is our ship," he said quietly. "Our quarters." 

She nodded, looked away. 

He thought he understood the reason for her reluctance. "I'll sleep on the couch," he said softly, "if that's easier for you---" 

"No." The word came out of her mouth quickly--- too quickly, to judge by her expression. She collected herself, took a deep shaky breath, and raised her hands, clasped his arms gently. "We've shared a bed before, without sharing more than that," she said. "And... it would feel good to---" She broke off, looked away hastily. 

A tense moment--- then she laughed, shakily. "Besides, it's hardly right for me to throw you out of your own bed, on your ship---" 

He freed one hand, cupped her chin firmly. "_Our_ ship." 

And let her go quickly, not wanting to see how she reacted to _that_.   
  


******   
  
  
  


Getting ready for bed was more than a little awkward--- more so than with a complete stranger or a casual acquaintance. He was painfully conscious of her, as he always was--- except that their minds were closed to each other as they'd never been at such a time. 

Mostly, he tried not to look; didn't want to know if she did. 

They'd always slept naked together; another bit of awkwardness. Finally, they simply slid into bed, not looking at one another, lay on their backs an arm's length apart--- there was room enough for that. 

Sagan looked up at the ceiling, tried to relax. He was acutely aware of her---of her bare body next to him and the scent of her skin, which reminded him of times not long past.... 

And more painful still--- bringing a catch to his breath when even desire failed to move him--- was another, earlier memory--- 

"Do you remember---" They spoke simultaneously. 

Maigrey laughed on a shaky breath, turned on her side to face him, hands tucked under her cheek and the sheet tucked securely under one arm. He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. 

There was a time he might have resented such levity. Looking at the scar on her face--- wine on marble--- any resentment died. Laughter was far better than... _that_. 

"Maybe we don't need the mind-link, after all," she said, her voice a little breathy, nervous. Uncertain. 

"I wonder," he asked quietly, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, "if we're thinking the same thing?" It was a step... and a step. Toward each other, from a distance he couldn't remember crossing. 

"You go first," she said, grey eyes dancing with mirth... voice trembling. 

He felt his mouth stretch in an answering smile. "When we were children--- after the mind-link formed---"Her eyes got brighter--- "and you would climb up the wall of my dormitory---" 

Maigrey laughed, shaky but sincere. "That's the memory," she said. "I'd climb up to your window--- what was it, ten stories?" 

"Eleven," he said, remembered severity in his voice. "It gave me fits--- a six-year-old child climbing up a stone wall in the dead of night---" 

This time her laugh was steadier. "I'd climbed worse," she retorted. "Like that damn statue---" 

"Your skill exceeded your common sense--- as I pointed out to you at the time." 

She laughed, putting up a hand to cover her mouth, her grey eyes dancing. "Regularly, and at some length, as I recall." Her eyes softened, still lit from within. "It was worth it, though---" 

"Why? To make me capitulate?" 

"You could have thrown me out if you wanted." Her eyes sparkled a challenge. 

"And rouse the rest of the dormitory? Not a chance." He relented. "Besides, I was glad... that you wanted to come to me." He paused, then went for broke. "I _liked_ it when you climbed up into my lap--- you were like a little kitten---" That had been the first warm human touch he remembered: the times when she had climbed into his lap while he studied, or snuggled, kitten-like, against his chest while they both slept. 

"Your little wildcat--- remember?" She smiled up at him, her lips trembling slightly. 

"Yes, I remember." It had been his pet name for her. He reached out a hand, stroked the soft pale hair back from her face. 

She sighed softly. "Sometimes I miss that--- it was so much simpler than---" she broke off, made a slight gesture with one hand, encompassing everything that had happened since. 

He moved his hand, stroked his fingertips past the scar on her cheek. "So do I." A moment, while the blood rushed in his ears, then--- "It was the first time I thought that someone... might love me." 

She trembled under his touch--- reached up a hand and covered his. "I did." Her expression was quite solemn now, earnest. "And did you love me--- then?" 

"Love," he said quietly, "is too easy a word, Maigrey. There wasn't anyone else, that's all. You were the only one." 

A moment of silence while they stared into each other's eyes. Then, without needing to speak, they rearranged themselves: she turned her back to him, and he curled around her, spoon-fashion, holding her against his chest, imitation of the memory. 

Except that it wasn't exact. He was acutely conscious of the warmth of her hips pressing against his, of the soft small twin curves of her breasts above his arms around her slim waist, of the scent of her hair and skin--- 

Of the quickening of her heartbeat, against his chest, that said she too was conscious of their closeness. "Not exactly like the old days, is it?" 

He swallowed hard: his throat felt tight, constricted. "Not exactly." He forced a laugh. "Or rather, too much like some of them---" 

Her giggle moved her body against his in ways that would have been fascinating under other circumstances. "You mean, my pathetic attempts at seducing you?" 

"I wouldn't call them _pathetic_." He settled her against him in a less distracting position--- though _less _was at the moment a relative term. "You were quite sophisticated, for a thirteen-year-old tomboy--- more than I was at twenty-two, in point of fact." 

"_You_ were a prude." 

"Because I wouldn't sleep with an adolescent?" 

"Because you wouldn't do more than kiss me until our rite of initiation." 

"I made up for it that night, though---" He bit his lip; he hadn't meant to say that, not under the circumstances. 

She went very quiet in his arms for a moment, then--- "Yes," she said softly, "you did." 

They lay silent for a long moment, then she nestled back against him--- not teasing this time, not even sensual. Her hands drifted onto his where they met at her waist. "Do you know," she said softly, "that this was the place in the galaxy where I felt safest?" 

She'd never know what that meant to him--- that she should find shelter in him, as he'd taken shelter in their bond, from a world that had always seemed to offer nothing but senseless pain and cruelty. 

"No," he said softly. "I didn't know that." He drew her back down against him, settled an arm across her collarbone. 

She rested her scarred cheek against his forearm. "And what," she asked, echo of his thoughts, "did I mean to you?" 

"Everything." There was nothing else to be said. He could only hope she'd understand. 

She leaned back against him. "I only wish I'd known." 

"So do I." He leaned down, kissed her temple gently. She let him, said nothing. 

After a time, they fell asleep.    
  
  
  


*****   
  


Or rather, Sagan did. 

For a long time after his breathing had quieted, Maigrey lay awake, lost in thought... and in the pleasure of lying nestled in Derek's arms. 

She'd wanted this for months. She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself... but, Dear God, if he'd promised her _this_--- promised tenderness and closeness and, God in heaven, _openness_--- instead of mere power, it would have taken an act of God to pry her away from him, treason or no. And maybe not even that. 

She cuddled back against him and felt his arms tighten around her--- reflex, even in sleep. 

She felt the knots in the small of her back unclench, of a sudden, as her subconscious went off alert status for the first time in months. As far as her hind-brain was concerned, _Derek's arms _equaled _safe_, and probably always would. And likewise, any situation that put them at odds said _danger_ to all those animal instincts in her gut. 

Never mind that her conscious reasoning processes said that Derek _needed_ her as his loyal opposition... and likewise that living up to his standards had made her stronger than she would have been without him. Her gut said that arguing with him... was like sticking knives into her own flesh. 

Self-inflicted wounds. The scars on his arm, some fresh, some that had been there since she'd known him, stood out in the starlight, where his forearm rested against her waist. She traced her fingers over the marks. 

She'd never liked those scars. Never mind she knew they were part of his faith... she'd never liked the thought of him hurting himself. Battle-scars were different... were marks of honor, was how _she'd_ been raised. His combat scars evoked a rather different reaction in her--- to look at, to run her fingers over the rough seams and _know_, deep in that animal place in her soul, that this was a man she could respect... could adore. A man worthy of her respect and adoration. 

The scars of his faith were something else. A terribly lonely, isolated act, to her way of thinking. She'd felt him, around the edges, sometimes, when he performed the ritual... his thoughts were all cold desperation, mostly. It frightened her. 

The worst of it was that he would never, had _never_ let her comfort him for it. She didn't understand--- why the practice of his faith should hurt him so... why he continued to practice that faith, seeing that it hurt him. 

But then, her own relationship with God was rather more casual. She'd always preferred to get what she wanted through her own efforts.... 

Perhaps she _should_ have asked God for what she'd wanted.... 

Or perhaps it would have been enough simply to ask Derek. _He _was the one she'd wanted it from, after all. 

She turned her head slightly, looked back at the door to her office. _Her_ office... the twin of Derek's. 

She'd never asked for that... never asked for any of this. All she'd wanted... was him. She had everything else. 

It had never occurred to her that he might feel the same. She'd never once suspected... never imagined. 

His words came back to her. _Like having air to breathe is convenient._

God... if only she'd known.... 

... she might have been able to prevent this... disaster. Derek had as much as said that the whole point of the revolution from his view was to give her the galaxy as a courtship gift. 

Not that he'd ever _needed_ to court her. All he'd ever had to do was ask. 

But he hadn't known... she hadn't. They'd been stumbling around blindly, not knowing they had what they needed... or _could_ have it, at least... if they'd only had the courage to reach out.... 

Well... better late than never. They had their bargain... which let her lie here in his arms with a clear conscience. All her oaths intact... that was a far better gift than _almost_ any other--- any other except this moment. 

He seemed to be keeping the spirit of their bargain as well. No sign of any action against the rest of their Squadron. No sign that he was anything but her partner in their effort to defeat Abdiel. 

_Her partner._ That... _that_ was what she'd always wanted. 

And now, it seemed... just when she would have said it was impossible... that she finally had it. 

She took that thought to sleep with her, nestled in the sheltering circle of his arms.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


That night, the nightmare came. 

They'd plagued his sleep for the past few months, as he'd expected, alone as he was for the first time in two decades. But he'd thought that with her here in his arms at last, he'd be safe enough. 

He was wrong. 

At last, he clawed his way out of the darkness and horror, gasping for breath. Sat up, trembling. 

It was a few moments before he noticed that Maigrey was with him. He'd woken her with his reactions; now she had pressed herself against him, arms around his waist. 

His got a breath, and another, turned back to her. "My apologies---" 

"Nonsense." Her voice was harsh; she rested her chin on his shoulder, spoke more softly. "I don't mind." 

"I do." He pushed away from her, started to rise--- remembered their earlier awkwardness and stayed put, leaned back on the bed. 

She followed him, lay next to him, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him. "This isn't the first time, after all." 

That much was true. The nightmares came at irregular intervals; ever since they'd had the link he'd relied on her presence, mental or physical, to calm the terror they left. 

To remind him that he had an alternative beside loneliness... or pain. 

"I'm sorry for that, too." He stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think, wanting simply to take mindless comfort from her nearness. 

She had other ideas. "I've never asked what it is you dream that could frighten you so." She brushed a fingertip along his chest, down his breastbone. "That could frighten the strongest man I know---" 

Even thinking about it was enough to make him blanch. "You don't want to know." His voice was harsher than he liked. 

It didn't deter her. "Probably not," she said, more or less cheerfully. Her fingers traced their way up into his hair, stroking down from the side of his head to the tail tied back at the nape of his neck. "Which is all the more reason why I _should_ know." And then, when he would have protested--- "Derek, we've kept so much hidden from one another, tried to save our pride by shutting each other out--- and look where it's gotten us." She leaned forward, her hair falling over his chest. "You've said you want me by you. I don't think it's possible... unless you can be honest, can be open, with me." 

He capitulated, nodding a rueful assent. "On one condition." 

"Name it." Her voice was steady, certain. 

"After this--- I ask you questions, and get some _honest_ answers. And---" his heart lurched--- "no matter what you think of me once you've heard this--- _you don't leave_." Still lying on his back, he raised himself on an elbow, caught her face in his other hand. 

She chuckled. "That's two conditions." He started, and she put one hand in the center of his chest. "Oh, I agree--- they seem fair enough." She pushed him back onto the bed, then leaned back against the headboard, looking down at him. "Besides, I've already seen the worst I could of you." He knew she meant the night of the revolution. 

"Oh, I doubt that." 

"Try me." She reached out, began slowly picking the knots out of the thong that held his hair back, then drew it loose, spreading it out on the pillow and finger-combing the tangles. 

He lay back on the bed, tilted his head into the comforting caress that seemed to loosen the old tight ache in his soul. 

And he told her the worst. 

Told her about a childhood spent almost entirely alone. About beatings given for no reason that a child could understand (as a man, he knew that his father had taken his own bitterness out on the child who caused and symbolized his disgrace, but the scars refused to heal). About how the monastic routine of fasting and penitence and cold and silence had seemed to a young boy very much like a judgment on _him_, personally. Not a good one. 

About the first time someone in that cold lonely place had offered him what seemed like comfort... and what that man had demanded in return. How the only praise he'd ever received in those days was for an act he _knew_ to be wrong, on every possible level. And how it had felt when he'd one day grown too old to be of interest. 

"It was about that time," he said, speaking to the darkness, "that I found out... what I was." 

"About your father." It was the first time Maigrey had spoken. She'd listened in utter silence, her fingers toying absently, gently, with a piece of his hair, her eyes on his face gentle and glistening with tears. He hadn't minded; for once, they'd been welcome. 

At least she didn't seem disgusted with him. As he had always been with himself. 

"Yes," he said. "That the price for my existence... was my father's disgrace." He felt his lips twist into something that wasn't a smile. "At the time, I didn't consider it worth that price." 

One of her tears fell on his shoulder. He touched it, reached up and brushed his finger along her cheek, spoke in a deliberately lighter tone. "But a few years later---" half a lifetime to a child--- "you found me. _That_ was worth it." 

She smiled slightly, but her eyes were sober. "And you've carried that inside you--- all these years." 

"It doesn't matter. I survived, that's enough." He looked away, not wanting to speak further on it. It was hard enough to remember. 

He didn't want to imagine what would go through her mind every time she looked at him from now on. 

She shook her head lightly, her hair whisking across his chest and face in a tickling fringe. "Yes," she said quietly. "You've survived... survived things that would have destroyed a lesser person---" She shivered. "Would have destroyed me." 

"I doubt it. You're strong." 

She shook her head. "Not that strong.... Not even strong enough to stand by you when you needed me---" She shivered. "God, I'm such a fiend--- to have left you, after what you've been through, to be one more person who left you bleeding---" 

He put a hand to her lips, silencing her. "You didn't know. I was very careful that you _wouldn't_ know---" Tightness in his throat. "I didn't want you to stay with me out of pity--- I _don't._" 

She shook her head. "Pity's the last thing that comes to mind. More like awe." She shifted, settled a little closer against him, draped an arm across his chest. He relaxed, bone-deep, at the touch that said he didn't disgust her. There'd been a time, in his childhood, when he'd thought he'd never feel clean. But _she_ didn't mind. 

"I'd like to kill your father." It was said in such an offhand, conversational tone, that it took a second for the words to register. 

"What?" He half-sat up, looked into her eyes. 

She answered the question he hadn't quite asked. "For what he did to you--- for what he allowed to be done." 

For some obscure reason, he felt the need to defend his father. "It didn't occur to anyone that the monastic routine would... harm... a child. As for the other... he didn't know. Brother Castus---" bitter irony, the man's name: Brother Chaste.. .who'd been anything but--- "was very careful of _that_." And a terrified child had been very careful that his caretaker should not know the sin he'd committed--- because in his mind at the time, he'd been a willing party. He'd had no better options. Never mind he knew, as an adult, that it had been otherwise. 

_That_ was why he'd kept his hands off Maigrey, until they could meet as adults. Though perhaps, to her, that had been a worse harm---to be denied his touch, that evidence of his need for her. 

Maigrey shook her head. "He _should_ have known." She leaned back on the headboard, looked down at him, her fingers combing absently through his hair. "Let me tell you a story, from when I was a child." 

"All right." She'd told him stories about her home, when they were children together. He'd enjoyed it, after a fashion; it was a window into what it might have been like to have a home, and a family. 

"You know my father pretty much raised me in a barracks." He smiled; that was how she always described her childhood of riding to battle and plotting conquest with her father. "Well, his soldiers---" she smiled wryly--- "were not always the most decent of people. And one time, one of the men took it into his head to 'teach me a lesson' in 'what a woman's place was.'" 

Her eyes were abstracted. "Which, of course, was in a man's bed--- never mind I was five at the time." 

He felt his skin crawl in empathy. That was about the age he'd been when--- "Is this scum still around?" 

Maigrey laughed. "Not for about nineteen years, I'm afraid." Her smile was feral. "I stuck him in the privates with a knife I always carried, and thought that was the end of it. Father, however, found out---" the smile grew wider, acquired a hint of giggle--- "and gave me a rather detailed lesson in how to flay a man alive so that he lived long enough to have his heart cut out at the end." 

"My God." Sagan revised his opinion: he rather doubted that anything in his past could disgust her. "You never told me any of _those_ stories." 

Her expression was one of solemn mischief. "I didn't want to disgust you." 

"Ah." The sigh came from deep within him, a release of long-buried tension. Amazing, to discover how similar they were only after they'd already lost the bond that brought them together. 

"But do you see my point?" She slid down, lay propped up on her side, looking down at him. "I didn't tell my father--- but he found out. He found out because he loved me, and he cared what happened to me, and he made it his business to _know_ what happened to me." 

"Then how did that scum find you?" Sagan countered. 

She smiled wryly. "Because I was a headstrong little brat who thought being my father's daughter entitled me to go wherever I pleased, even when Father wasn't with me." She saw his expression, elaborated hastily. "I got out of the nursery one night, all right? Like I did with my room at the Academy." 

"One would think," he said dryly, "that you'd have learned your lesson." 

Her eyes twinkled. "Most certainly--- if I was going on a clandestine excursion, I made certain I was with someone I could trust." The clear warm light in her eyes seemed to vibrate through his very soul. 

He shivered, changed the subject. "As long as we're talking about you---" 

"I didn't mean---" Remorseful, she reached out a hand. 

He caught it. "I don't mind in the least." He was, in fact, grateful. "But we do have an agreement." 

She chuckled ruefully. "Yes, we do." She pushed herself back up against the headboard, let an arm trail down along his chest. "Ask your questions." 

It took him a moment to sort thoughts; to put the wordless anxieties he'd always had into something like coherent questions. "Would your father have allowed me to marry you?" 

She stared at him for a moment--- then laughed. "Derek--- my father wanted to make you his heir, alongside me. As far as he was concerned, you were the son he _should_ have had---" She snorted. "As opposed to my dear older brother, on whom you and my father were in complete agreement." 

The humor was lost on Sagan. "You're joking." 

"No. We'd discussed it--- then the squadron got sent off to some godforsaken place, and Father got himself killed in that stupid raid before he'd had time to put the question to his advisors---" She bit her lip. Sagan remembered that time vividly: as her commander, he'd stood by her at her father's funeral. She'd done them both proud, every inch the perfect officer... until after the service, when they were alone in her rooms... when she'd clung to him, buried her face in his chest, and begged him without words not to leave her too. He'd let her cry... and envied her, bitterly, because she had had a father she could love so much. 

Maigrey took a deep breath. "I discussed it with my father's chancellor... who, to say the least, objected. You were illegitimate... you were my lover--- he assumed that it was all my idea." She looked away. "I thought about taking it to the courts--- but I assumed you wouldn't want the scandal... and, frankly, I wasn't sure you wanted me, either." 

He turned on his side, looked up at her. "Maigrey---" He wanted to protest, realized that she was within her rights. He'd never been prone to demonstrations of affection... especially once she was an adult. The thought of rejection had sickened him. 

Which had only led to a worse rejection than he could have imagined. "I'm sorry," he said. 

"Ironic, isn't it--- _you_ were willing to fight for _me."_

She meant the revolution, he knew, and felt some of the darkness go out of his soul at the thought that she understood. "But _I_ couldn't accept the thought that you'd reject me." 

"Doesn't matter." 

"But it does." He reached up, touched the damaged cheek, ran his fingers carefully past the healing wound. "_This_... that's my father's legacy in me. Something I should have overcome a long time ago." 

"How could you? You've said it yourself--- there's no one else, is there?" She leaned over him, cupped his face in her hand. "I can't say I'd have reacted any better." 

She sat back against the headboard. "Next question." 

"Would _you_ have married me?" 

She laughed outright. "If I haven't said that enough--- _yes_, I would have married you in a second." She looked thoughtful for a second--- except for the mischief in her eyes. "We'd have had to elope, of course--- I truly shudder to think of the elaborate wedding plans Semele would have---" She stopped, looking very much as if she'd run into a steelglass wall. 

Sagan sat up, drew her close. "I never meant for Semele to die---" 

"If I thought you had, I wouldn't be here." She leaned into his arms. "That was Abdiel, I know--- that's why I agreed to your terms, at first: I wanted to avenge her." 

"And now?" His heart wanted to burst. 

She looked up at him, her grey eyes clear and sad. "You found a choice for me that would let me keep my honor--- _all_ my honor, what there was left of it; let me keep my oaths." 

"Is that---" 

"No." She looked away. "It's not the only reason... God help me." She fell silent, staring at nothing. 

"You're the one who said we needed to be open with one another." He rolled onto his stomach, looking up at her intently. 

She looked down at him, cupped his face in her hand. "I already told you... being your partner means the galaxy to me." 

For a long moment, he couldn't move, his mind blank and aching as he realized how close he'd come to losing what he'd always needed... and hadn't known he had. 

A moment of silence--- then Maigrey asked, "Are those your only questions?" 

"No--- here's another." He took a deep breath, rolled onto his back, looking away from her. This was hardest of all to ask--- because it would be the ultimate humiliation.... "You said you'd have married me. What about Dixter?" 

Maigrey raised her head to stare at him in astonishment. Then she laughed, her whole body shaking against his. "What... _about_... Dixter?" she asked, in between bouts of laughter. 

That was the answer his rational mind had told him to expect--- but--- "You behaved more than half the time as if he were your lover---" 

"What in the Creator's name do you mean?" 

"Those drunken club-crawls you went on with him--- you'd come back laughing---" He closed his eyes. "And you wouldn't look me in the eyes, wouldn't even come near me." His voice was sharper than he'd intended. 

"Because you hate it when I drink--- never mind that you drive me to it, sometimes." She leaned her head against his chest a second in silent apology for the remark, though he'd understood it as a jest. "And that's the reason I went with John--- because _you_---" she scratched her nails down his chest, _not_ gently--- "wouldn't." 

He couldn't answer--- couldn't even think for a second; the pleasure/pain of that touch reminded him of other times.... He cleared his throat. "If all you wanted was someone to get drunk with, I'm sure Stavros and Danha would have obliged you." It was not said without some rancor; he'd never approved of the squadron's carousing. 

Maigrey sighed. "Touche. All right--- yes, I enjoyed the fact that... John... loved me--- that he _let me know_ he loved me." She looked up at him. "It was hard, you see, to go on day after day, _loving_ you--- and not knowing if I meant anything to you." 

"'A convenience.'" He remembered her words--- had it only been this evening? 

Her voice dropped almost to a breath. "Sometimes I started to wonder if something was wrong with _me... if_ I wasn't good enough---" she sighed. "John... made me feel that I was good enough for _someone_. I... needed that." 

He rested his chin on top of her head. "Believe me, I understand." So much alike... because he, too, had been desperate, desperate for _her_ approval, for the comfort of thinking that someone might love him. He tucked her against him more closely. "I wish I had known." 

"I couldn't ask--- but you understand that..." It was almost a question. 

"Yes." He kissed the top of her head. "Only too well." 

They lay together in silence and darkness, holding each other close, until they slept.   
  


*****   
  


Starlight on silver--- 

Maigrey's eyes, warm and luminous, fastened on his. Their hands, clasped together--- 

Gold and silver, phoenix and star, amid a curtain of roses.... 

Sagan came awake, heart pounding, and tried to get his bearings. 

Their quarters, on _Phoenix_... _their_ quarters. 

He reached out, mind and hand. _Maigrey?_

He'd expected to find her with his touch, not his thought. 

Wrong on both counts. 

The other side of the bed was empty. 

The space in his mind was not. 

_Derek?_ Automatic answer--- then startlement--- 

On _both_ sides of the bond. 

_My... God.... How?_

_Damned if I know, my lord._

He had a guess... that she'd been right. The mind-link alone wasn't enough to hold them together... it had required that they be open with one another. 

Her thoughts touched his. _I'm going to treasure this moment for the rest of my life._

_What? The re-forging of the link?_

Mental laugh--- impish. _That, too.... What I meant was, it's the first time you ever admitted that I had figured out something you hadn't._

He sighed. _Am I going to be subjected to this sort of backtalk for the rest of my life?_

Another giggle. _If I have _my_ way._

He felt his lips twitch. _I look forward to it._ And before she could answer, _Where _are_ you, anyway?_

_I'm in the shower---_ Sudden break; shower of bright sparks down the bond, hitting his nerves like liquid fire. 

_Oh, really?_ He got out of bed, went into the bathroom. Opened the shower door. 

Maigrey looked up at him, eyes dancing. "You're letting the steam out." 

He came in, closed the door behind him. Took her in his arms. 

She put one arm around his ribs; her other hand came up to tangle in his hair. The water splashed in hot needles down their skin--- _their_ skin; the rapport was close enough that he felt what she felt, felt her feel what he did, in a shimmering loop.... At once a familiar sensation... and wholly new. 

Her eyes were bright with mischief and joy. "This shower's a lot more convenient for this sort of thing than those damn cubicles in the pilots' quarters." 

"I designed it for two." He bent, and kissed her. 

They weren't gentle with each other, or slow; seldom had been... or wanted to be. She clawed at his back and neck while he slid his hands over her breasts, cupping and teasing, then moved the caress downward to her hips and backside. 

She moaned at that, and sunk her teeth into his collarbone--- her sign to him that she was ready to have him inside her, ready to be satisfied.... 

He had a circle of tiny scars there: bite marks, from all the times she'd done that. Sometimes she was so aroused, so moved by his touch and his body, that she drew blood... and that was best of all. 

She got her legs around his waist as he lifted her and pinned her against the wall. And then they were together, in every way possible, minds and bodies joined as the shimmering circuit of contact exploded in a wash of sensation. 

He might have screamed. She might have. It didn't matter. It was perfect. 

Afterwards he held her, the weight of his body pressing her against the wall as he leaned against her. He rested his head against her shoulder, felt the rhythm of their two hearts beating in unison while the water beat down on them. She reached up, tangled her hands in his hair. 

There were no words for this moment, simply the touch of minds and bodies, more intimate than they'd ever been... because now they knew. Knew what they'd hidden from each other, from themselves. Knew that they could lose what they had. 

He raised his head to look at her: her face luminous and flushed, her eyes closed, her breath coming in soft, delighted gasps. With the water falling over her face, he couldn't tell if she was crying. 

He bent forward, kissed her eyelids. She laughed, shakily, opened her eyes and kissed him, deep and serious. 

When the kiss ended, he pushed away from the wall, slowly; she let her legs down in time with his movement, stroking her feet down the backs of his legs. He shuddered at the feel of it. 

For a moment they stood together, not quite touching, trying to pull apart from the intimacy of their minds as they had from each other's bodies--- trying to find the boundaries again, without making them impassable. 

At last he drew back from her. "We... have work to do." 

She drew a deep breath, reached over and shut off the water. "Such as?" Not an argument, merely a question. 

_The rest of the crew will be back onboard soon--- and I _am_ their commander._ It seemed right just then to slide back into the intimacy of mental speech. 

She rested a hand on his chest. _True._

_And for another... Aks is going to have a coronary when he sees you. As far as he's concerned, you're still a traitor._

Her head went up, her lips twitching. _Dear God... Aks stayed... with you_?A laugh, with voice and mind. She'd never asked about the rest of duties; he'd always wondered how she would react. She'd always liked the admiral. _And you didn't tell him--- _She broke off, smiling. _We'd better go explain things to him._

_Assuming, of course, that we understand them ourselves._ He still didn't; couldn't quite understand how the world they shared could have come full circle in such a short time. 

_We know what we have._ Her eyes were serious and clear. _That's enough._   
  


*****   
  


They got out of the shower, and dried each other off; and lingered so long about the business, with kisses and caresses, that Maigrey finally laughed, voice and mind, and said, _The hell with it. Let's go back to bed._

Sagan laughed in answer, and tossed the towel aside to scoop her up in his arms and carry her back to their bed. 

He put her down amid the tangle of bedclothes, lay down against her. Immediately, she pressed up to him, running her hands down his sides and back. 

He caught her wrists. _Enough of that, my lady._ He stretched her arms out over her head. 

She moaned and writhed against him. _Oh, no--- not _this_ game---_ It was a familiar kind of loveplay for them, and one she always found ecstatically frustrating. 

He chuckled softly. _Behave yourself--- or you won't get anything._ The old rules. 

She indulged in another helpless moan--- then obediently stretched her hands over her head, going limp and passive under him. 

He chuckled again, and bent to brush his lips over her neck. They'd started this game when she was just entering adolescence--- and _very_ determined to get her hands on him. He'd struck a bargain with her--- he'd hold her on his lap and kiss her... as long as he had hold of her wrists too. Her clumsy, hungry caresses had excited him beyond all reason; in order to give her the gentle, innocent pleasure that was all she was ready for, he had to be certain of some control over her. Later, as adults and lovers, they'd found ways to turn that bargain into a delightfully agonizing game of self-control. 

He traced gentle slow lines down her sides, and felt her mind heat with arousal... though outwardly she was still, passive, underneath him. That was the nature of the game: as long as she held still and stayed silent, he'd continue to pleasure her. The minute she moved, or cried out, he'd stop until she was absolutely passive again. It was a test of endurance to see if he'd break and take her before she started twisting under him, or begging. 

He loved doing this to her: loved having her so desperate for his touch that she'd submit to what was really a rather cruel sort of torment. And loved feeling her pleasure at his touch and finally his penetration. 

For long moments, he ran his hands over her breasts and hips and belly--- her only reaction the involuntary racing of her heart and the increasing heat of her mind. He nuzzled his lips against her nipples, tasted the soft nubbled skin and pressed his cheek over her heart... then moved down between her legs and tasted her--- soft hot crevices of flesh rich with her scent. 

And he felt the sudden scalding in her mind that meant she was ready, and he moved up and took her deep--- and that was the signal that she could move, and she wrapped herself around him and screamed his name and for the second time in as many hours the world went away and they were lost in each other and in ecstasy. 

And then they lapsed back on the bed in a panting tangle of arms and legs, and he moved off her so as not to crush her and wound her in his arms and buried his face in her sweat-damp hair. 

She nuzzled his chest for a moment, then cuddled in close and relaxed against him. He sighed deeply and let himself drift on the ebb tide of their minds together. 

Until Maigrey pushed herself up off him, and looked down at him... and said, _My turn._   
  


*****   
  


The look on Derek's face was delightfully startled. _Your... turn, my lady?_

_Yes,_ she said, folding her arms across his chest and leaning her head on them to look up at him. _You're... oh, _magnificent_... at _giving_ pleasure... I want to see if you can take it._

White-hot flash of desire in his mind before he clamped down on it. She laughed. _Come now, my lord... don't tell me you're afraid. _

_I don't like... being passive._ His thought was tight, tense. 

After last night's revelations, she could understand why he might feel this way. _This... I don't mean the same thing. I want to _please_ you._

_Is that all?_ He raised an eyebrow. 

She chuckled. _I admit...._ She raised herself up on one arm, looked up and down the length of his body--- broad, muscled chest and shoulders, strong arms, rough with scars, his legs all long lean muscle, and between them--- She swallowed hard. _I think you're magnificent... I want to look at you, and when I look, I want to touch--- I want to run my hands over you and feel your pulse jump and _have_ you---_ She broke off, sharply, realizing that he could misunderstand what she'd said... that she could truly hurt him. 

But the look in his eyes and the feel of his mind was anything but hurt. _You take... such pleasure... from... me?_ His thought was pure disbelief. 

_Yes... oh, yes._

_You want this...._ He shook his head slightly. 

_Not if you don't---_ she answered anxiously. 

He chuckled softly, reach up a hand to stroke through her hair. _If you enjoy it, I'm sure I will._

And he lay back on the bed and stretched his arms over his head... and looked at her in blatant invitation. 

She moaned softly--- the silence rule only applied to him, now--- and bent to pleasure him. 

Except that, for the first few minutes, she was wildly selfish--- just running her hands over him, everywhere, exploring that magnificent body with increasing abandon. She stroked her hands up and down his arms, loving the feel of coarse black hair and scar tissue over hard muscle and sinew, loving the feel of his pulse under her fingers. 

She felt a calm quiet pleasure in his mind at that, and no little surprise--- and knew a moment of intense remorse. Had he truly expected it to be so unpleasant? 

Her thoughts must have leaked down the bond. _I didn't know... what to expect._ His thought was small, empty of everything but the words. 

_I'd never want to hurt you--- I'd never be cruel to you---_

_Shhhh... I know._ His thought was soothing. _Now... get on with it._

She laughed aloud at his command. _Bossy, aren't you?_ she teased, and sat up, straddling his waist and clamping her hands on his wrists. Playfully, he half-started to sit up--- 

She crushed her weight down on him in earnest--- not that she could ever hope to outmuscle him, but she _did_ know to a fare-thee-well exactly what kind of weight different joints could bear in different positions. _You... don't... move._ She thought each word precisely, fiercely. 

He laughed, mind-to-mind. _My little wildcat has become a lioness, I see._

_Mmmmmm_.... she answered. _Which makes you the king of beasts?_

He snorted... and lay back, relaxing totally under her, surrendering. _As my lady wishes._

She smiled. _Good answer._ And bent to caress him in earnest. 

Her hands moved along his chest, kneading the tight muscles, her fingers toying with his nipples in brief playful flicks.... And for long moments, she simply lost herself in the scent and the feel and the taste of his skin, moving hands and mouth over his chest and stomach and legs. 

And then she couldn't resist, and she knelt between his legs and took him in her mouth. 

The white heat from his mind and the intensely sensual experience of tasting him combined to blow her logic functions all to hell. 

And for a long time, she devoured him and fed on his intense and astonished pleasure and reveled in the act itself.... Until the heat in his mind reached a roiling boil and her own body ached for a more satisfying union. 

She took her mouth off him and straddled his hips before he'd had time to do more than register her movement... and she took him inside her and writhed against him while he thrust up into her and screamed her name. 

She made it last, controlling their release with intimate squeezes, drawing it out until she was dizzy and he was crazed--- and then she clamped onto him hard and let them both go. 

And when it was over, she collapsed on top of him and settled her face in the curve of his collarbone, and thought she'd never move again.   
  


*****   
  


Sagan chuckled softly. _My lioness_. That was, come to think of it, a better pet name for the woman she'd become. He stroked her back with one hand. 

She stirred and shivered against him, twisted around to huddle under his arm. _I'd rather be your little wildcat._

He blinked, surprised at the response. _Why?_

For a long moment, she was quiet, snuggling up against him. _Do you remember what I said last night... how in yours arms is the safest place in the world?_

_Yes._ He ran his fingers through the pale hair. 

_I like feeling that way._ The overtones in her mind told him more than the words--- her childhood memories of feeling safe in his arms, of never once questioning that he loved her. 

The questions had come later, with adulthood and adult responsibilities and adult rules... and most of all, with the terror of _adult_, reasoned, rejection that _both_ of them experienced. 

Everything had been simpler when they were children... and they'd never really figured out how to be adults with one another. How to show their love as adults without losing each other's respect. 

Well, no time like the present.... 

He rolled over onto his side, pulling her with him, cuddling her against his chest and drawing her head down under his chin. She sighed in deep contentment and settled close. 

_Like this?_ he asked. 

_Perfect._

He touched her mind. _No reason why we can't _both_ feel safe, is there?_

She chuckled delightedly at the image he sent her: a lion and a lioness curled up around each other, a tangle of legs and tails, their heads tucked under each other's paws. _Purrrrrr._

He kissed the top of her head. _Indeed_. 

For a long moment they were quiet together, nestling in each other's arm... then Maigrey's thought touched his. _Will you forgive me a sentimental indulgence?_

He remembered what she'd said the night before... 'the man who thought "sentiment" was a dirty word'.... _Yes, of course._ He kissed her temple. 

She clasped her hands over his. _I was thinking of the sonnets... one in particular._

_Which?_ Off the top of his head, he could think of a few of Shakespear's verses that would suit this moment.... 

She sat up a little, looking into his eyes, and recited aloud, "'That you were once unkind, befriends me now---'" 

He chuckled softly. _A perfect choice, my lady._ "'And for that sorrow, which I then did feel---'" 

She touched his cheek. "'Needs must I under my transgression bow---'" 

"'Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.'" That had been his reputation, certainly... but it was a far cry from the truth. 

Her grey eyes were very bright. "'For if you were by my unkindness shaken/ As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time.'" 

"'And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken/ To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.'" His voice shook on the words. 

The brightness in her eyes spilled over; he kissed away one of the tears before she spoke. "'O that our night of woe might have remember'd/ My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits.'" 

"'And, soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd/ The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!'" He traced a finger down the scar, his voice breaking. 

She turned her head and kissed his fingertip; her voice was soft, soothing. "'But that your trespass now become a fee---'" 

He finished with her. "'Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.'" 

For a long moment, neither of them could speak. Finally, Maigrey's mind touched his. _I meant it as an--- as a reconciliation--- not something that would cause you pain._

_It didn't._ He pulled her head against his chest, cuddled her. _Maigrey... my lady... my love._

Her head came up fast. _That's the first time you've ever said you loved me._

He shivered; he hadn't realized, hadn't thought of it that way. He'd never used the words... because, truly, they'd never occurred to him. She was everything to him, so much more than a mere lover. 

Besides, love wasn't anything he really understood. He only knew he'd do anything for her. All he'd ever wanted was to make her happy. 

_That's..._ Her thought was soft, awed. _More than love, Derek. God, I can't believe...._ she trailed off, nestled her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. 

He took advantage of her moment of bewilderment to ask for something he hadn't known until this minute that he wanted. _Say you love me._

She looked up. _What?_

_Say you love me._ Fighting panic, he backpedaled at light speed. _It doesn't have to be true... but I'd... like to hear it._

For a long moment, she stared up at him, her eyes wide and sad. _Oh, Derek...._ She shook her head. 

_What?_ His guts knotted up with the old fear of rejection. 

_I don't know which is worse... that you don't already _know_ how much I love you... or that you'd be willing to accept a lie._

He traced his finger down her scarred cheek. _I'll take whatever I can get with you._

Her eyes clouded over for a moment--- then, abruptly, lit with wicked mirth. _Fortunately for you, my beloved lord--- that seems to be just about everything._

She met his eyes, wickedly solemn for a moment, then tucked herself in against him, snuggling close. 

And for a long time, they held each other, their thoughts drifting together on a tide of closeness... floating past his dream of this morning.... 

He felt her tremble, felt the sudden hot moisture against his neck._ No more tears, lady._The words slipped from his mind to hers automatically. 

She threw back her head to look at him, smiling. _A bride's allowed to cry._

He blinked. _What?_

Her smiled was pure delight, reflected in the warmth of her thoughts. _Isn't that what you dreamed?_

He stared at her, thought back through the dream.... 

Yes.... Yes. It could be. 

_This... is madness._

_Utterly._ Ripple of laughter. _It's also the damned _strangest_ proposal on record._

He stroked her cheek, brushed his fingers along the scar... which seemed far less prominent this morning. _Would you prefer a proper one?_

_I think I already had it--- several times over._ Flashes in her mind--- the night of their initiation. 

The day he'd told her she was to join the squadron as his second. 

The day they'd sworn their oath to each other. 

A few short nights on a deserted planet. 

And, fraught with pain... the night of the revolution. The words he'd said to her, to try to persuade her to join him. 

The day he'd come to her in the hospital, a week later, when he'd given her a chance to keep her honor. 

And the months after... the time spent together, the way he'd respected her boundaries... a proposal by omission. 

He let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been certain, hadn't known if she had understood--- understood that all along, everything he'd done had been for her. For them. 

Her smile got wider; she rested her head on his chest again. _The only question is... how do we get _there--- flash of the dream, gold and silver and roses and starlight--- _from_ here_?_

He sighed softly, reached one hand up to cradle the back of her head. _I have absolutely no idea._   
  
  
  


Author's Notes:   
  


I always wondered why it was that Sagan wasn't as physically affected by the severing of the mind-link as Maigrey. Certainly, he hadn't been physically assaulted, but I doubted that a flesh wound alone would cause a woman who once fought for three hours with a broken arm to pass out. I'm still no closer to understanding that little mystery : but at least I have an answer for what might have happened if he had been affected as well. 

The title of the story is from the song by Lifehouse, "Hanging By a Moment." The entire song seems highly appropriate to their situation as it's conceived in this story, though I refrained from making this an actual "song-fic" and using quotes for the section heads. If you're that curious--- get a copy of the song and use it for a soundtrack while you read! :) (Or email me and I'll dig up the lyrics. :)   
  


"Marat/Sade" is a real play; I promise faithfully to credit it properly as soon as I find my copy.   
  


Konrad Masian is named for Conrad Mazian, commander of the Earth fleet in C.J. Cherryh's Alliance/Union universe.   
  


Regarding character behavior: Yes, I know they seem a little out of character. But for the most part, in the books, we see them after seventeen years of separation; I imagine they were rather different as young people, especially Maigrey, whom I see as having been much more good-humored, even cheerful, as a young woman--- not least because if she'd been otherwise, the revolution would likely have broken her (assuming that being paired with Sagan didn't!)! Sagan himself refers to the "glimmer of laughter" in Maigrey's eyes at one point in _Ghost Legion_--- which suggests that he at least noticed her sense of humor and responded to it. Also, I think that not being able to bury her memories--- knowing the truth of what happened and being able to confront it directly--- would have made a great difference in how she reacted to the experience. As for Sagan.... Frankly, I've always felt that a lot of his motivations for his ambition had to do with Maigrey--- she was the only person he'd ever loved, and I think that can be taken in a general sense, not just in romantic terms. There was simply no one else in his life. And having the severing of the mind-link directly, physically affect him would, I believe, have changed his outlook on the experience of losing her. 

As for their childhood memories... Sagan's childhood always had overtones of abuse to me. I've never settled in my mind the question of whether that abuse was sexual as well as emotional, and physical (both in terms of actual punishment and neglect--- one does _not_ have a small child follow monastic ritual, thank you very much!). However, given the screaming allusions to _The Name of the Rose_ in the depiction of the Abbey of St. Francis in _King's Sacrifice_, I figured I had a leg to stand on regarding the sexual issue :. And the rest of his environment... certainly, growing up believing that his father hated him (which Sagan pretty much says in _King's Sacrifice_) could not have been healthy. In fact, I agree with Maigrey about Sagan's father. Period. I leave it to the reader to decide whether Maigrey or Derek had the more warped childhood--- flaying alive, indeed! : And yes, I do think she started pouncing after him when she hit puberty... and I don't blame her. {-D 

Regarding the sex scene: yes, it might be gratuitous... except that IMHO the sexual chemistry between the two of them and the way they chose to express it was always a major part of the books, even though they never do more than kiss in the actual text. I've always been curious about how they chose to handle that side of their relationship... and this was one of the answers I came up with. Besides which... I figured that they're always getting into hot water, so for once it might as well be literal! {-D 


End file.
